


It's Not Her Fault She Makes Girls Realize They're Lesbians

by ruff_ethereal



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Borderlands, Frozen (2013), My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Explicit Language, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Lesbians, Mental Instability, Mild Language, Psychosis, Relationship(s), Sexual Humor, Stalking, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 44,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruff_ethereal/pseuds/ruff_ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honey Lemon realizes she's a lesbian, and starts dating girls.</p><p>GoGo realizes she's in love with Honey Lemon, but can't tell her.</p><p>Honey Lemon goes on dates with other girls, GoGo gets into a number of strange and awful situations that may or may not directly involve Honey's girlfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Circle of Honey Lemon's Love Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Absence of Heat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702691) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> For sketchhungry.
> 
> Also, the author has gone insane. Beware.
> 
> Events and title heavily inspired or outright taken from http://frozentexts206.tumblr.com/
> 
> Edit: The author apologizes for the unintended offense with the original summary.

Honey Lemon's latest date turned tail and ran as fast as he could, leaving her standing in the middle of a crowded if wrecked restaurant.

We cringed. The civilians, the activist, and the journalist that we'd just saved cringed. Even the kidnappers we'd soundly beaten into submission cringed.

And when the villains feel bad for you, you _know_ it's _bad._

Honey Lemon watched him go, like she did all of the others, standing wherever she was in her choice of shoes that occasion—either stilettos or a fancier pair of platforms. You didn't even need to see her eyes to know that she was about to cry.

Fred gave me a discrete pat on the back. Him being inside a giant motorized monster suit made of kevlar, it made me stumble forward and trip on a chair leg that just happened to be in my way.

From the floor, I watched as one of the waiters—your usual high class service staff, young, handsome, and filling in his tuxedo quite nicely—came to her side and offered her the napkin from his pocket.

I picked myself up and brushed off the debris that had gotten onto my armour. Then I turned around and glared at Fred.

The others sans Baymax subtly or not so subtly gestured for me to turn around. They also mouthed “Do something!” and “Now's your chance!”

I gave them a look that asked them, “What?”

Then, the others sans Baymax threw their arms up into the air, shook their heads, or put the palms of their hands to their foreheads.

I scowled, and turned around.

I saw Honey Lemon walking off with the waiter, to one of the tables that hadn't been destroyed.

I felt something twinge inside of me, but I brushed it off as leftover pain from hitting the floor.

I only learned what it really was much, much, _much_ later, because for however much I am an engineering genius, and a great superhero, I am a complete, absolute _moron_ at romance.

* * *

We'd tried some semblance of secret identities after the incident with Callaghan and the teleporter, the first mission we have that's on official record. (The island remains classified and “does not exist.”)

Unfortunately, being full-time college students with part-time jobs doesn't really give you a lot of leeway for finding excuses, means, and ways to keep up with your normal life while still being on time to save the day.

And with technology these days, all anyone needed was a good CCTV shot or amateur video, then face-matching software, and boom, there went our secret identities.

Aside from the crap we got from all of our families—Aunt Cass makes sure to give us all an earful at least every other day—there was also a giant explosion of activity in the public of San Fransokyo, the government of the USA, and especially the Internet.

Skipping over the boring government, law enforcement registration, and “superhero licenses;” the controversial protests on the streets and debates in the courts about whether or not superheroes should be stopped (which was mostly handled by Fred's dad, also a superhero, it turned out); and the massive incident where people with _way_ too much time, money and enthusiasm on their hands tried to copy us or become actual supervillains, becoming the Big Hero 6 brought a lot of positive attention to us.

A _lot_ of positive attention.

Most of it was the usual—fans, anti-fans, and regular people who now knew who we are but didn't feel strongly either way. There were the corporations, the organizations, and the individuals that wanted us to promote, be sponsored by, or advertise for them—chief among them Aunt Cass, who had us hand out products in person once a week to make up for constantly endangering the life of her nephew. There were the _weird_ guys, harmless stalkers and obsessives who'd never take it out of their computer hard drives, and the _harmful_ stalkers and obsessives, who were tracking us to kidnap us, attack us, or plot their evil schemes around our schedules for maximum chances of success.

And then there were the people who made the admissions of crushes, love declarations, and asked us out on dates.

Some wanted to have that 15 minutes of fame by being a known celebrity's girlfriend/boyfriend. Then there were the thrill-seekers who _really_ liked the idea of dating someone who dressed up in power armour, fought villains, and saved people. Then there were people that just legitimately wanted to get to know us better, kind of like how you might notice a cute girl or guy in your friend's Instragram or Facebook photos and learn about them from there.

They were a grab bag, no matter what little personal details and preferences we gave out. Even if you firmly put yourself in a camp of sexuality, there were always going to be people who were completely convinced they were going to be the ones to get you to change your mind.

I'm not saying it can't happen, but I _am_ saying that the chances that most of these folks can actually do what they say they're going to do are very slim.

Whether or not we actually responded to them varied. Everyone but me (yes, Baymax got into it, don't ask me why) tried it out the first couple of weeks it started, until we all eventually realized that it was a recipe for a bad date, getting in trouble and necessitating rescue, or that they were better off with classic, offline dating aided by online, then stopped caring about it.

Well, everyone except Honey Lemon. Honey Lemon still gets a number of her dates from there.

I think a lot of it has to do with who Honey Lemon is: she's compassionate, she's kind, she gives everyone a chance to the best of her abilities and patience. While this doesn't mean she's gone out with _every_ person who's asked her out—which I'm pretty sure is physically impossible even if she spent the rest of her life marathoning them—she has gone out with a _lot_ of guys, based on who can make the most appealing case to her.

Eventually, past dates and the disturbing initiative, time, and effort of hundreds of thousands of people who needed new hobbies zeroed in on Honey Lemon's type:

Male, outgoing, and physically fit. If not an athlete, a regular marathon event enthusiast, or a bodybuilder, then at the very least, they filled out a suit nicely, in either a slim streamlined or bulky V shape.

The rest of the variables were hazy; inconclusive, coincidental, and/or depended on too many external factors to be safely isolated. Which meant that Honey Lemon's dates tended to be a grab bag still, only the differences tended to be the colours of their eyes and hair, nationalities and/or ethnicity, and occupations.

Her fans made a game of it—using an app specifically made for the purpose (again, there are a LOT of folks who need to find better uses for their time), people tried to create the face of Honey Lemon's next boyfriend of the month—or, as sometimes happened, week, day, hour, and the one minute—and then using mathematical formulas and Honey Lemon's Instagram, find out who came close to it.

Honey Lemon didn't care for them, and let them be, harmless as they were; she already had a lot on her plate, like college, her regular life, and superheroing to care about how close the newest batch of winners were.

And frankly, I didn't care about Honey Lemon's love-life in general--”It's her life, why the heck would I be involved in it?” I kept saying to the others, who did care.

Not to the creepy stalker levels, obviously, just the usual bout of friendly concern and curiosity, such as, “What's his name?”, “What's he like?”, and “Do you think he'll finally be the One?”

To which Honey Lemon would say their name, describe them (though some days, it felt like she was reciting from a template), and then say, “I don't know! I guess I'll find out!”

Then, once Honey Lemon had left for her date, the others would relay that information to me, to which I'd reply, “Uh huh.”, “Uh huh.”, and “Okay.”

The others would suddenly look disappointed or exasperated, I'd try to grill them for answers with means ranging from annoyed look to grabbing their shirt collar and pulling our faces inches away from each other, and then we'd move on past the topic of Honey's newest boyfriend and go back to our (relatively) normal lives.

Then, Honey Lemon would lose her latest boyfriend, find a new one, and then the cycle would repeat.

That is, of course, until #67—more commonly known as the last _male_ she dated.


	2. Take A U-Turn Then Straight Downhill From Here

“ _What_ am I doing _wrong?!”_

It was a rhetorical question, one no one would answer for fear of making Honey Lemon cry even harder. She was already splayed over Baymax on the floor, weeping fountains of bitter tears all over his fluffy marshmallow body.

He patted her on the back with one of his arms and said, “There, there.” from time to time, I handed her tissues, chocolate, and the occasional shot of vodka.

There were many ways that Honey Lemon's romantic relationships could go sour. These were the top three:

The first was when the guy in question realized they were way in over their head—like, say, #66, the one before #67, the latest—and got threatened by all sorts of folks, kidnapped by supervillains and run-of-the-mill criminals, or just caught in the crossfire of superheroing business.

The second was when a first date just went horribly. Maybe they completely, absolutely sucked at the “actual going out on dates” part. Maybe they were very good at hiding unsavoury parts of their life online, but not good enough to hide it from Honey Lemon in person. Maybe forces outside of their control ruined it—like supervillain attacks/kidnapping attempts/superheroing business crossfice, which frequently led to, but was not the sole cause of the first reason.

The third was by far the worst, and the heaviest on Honey Lemon: when after a couple of weeks of dating, they'd break up with her. Maybe the thrill of going out with a superhero had worn off, and they realized that the relationship was going to be a lot more work than they wanted to put in. Maybe they had gotten their fifteen minutes of fame, the spotlight had moved elsewhere, and they intended to follow it, with or without her. Maybe the spark they had fizzled out because they “lacked the chemical reactions that'd sustain the flames” as Honey Lemon liked to put it.

Or, as I liked to put it: they didn't click. Kind of like using a butterknife instead of a proper screwdriver; handy in a pinch, but you're never going to feel entirely comfortable using it on a daily basis.

And when any of those reasons happened, Honey Lemon coped with them in exactly three ways:

One: happen upon a new boyfriend after the break-up and come back on the rebound—sometimes almost immediately, as happened with #67.

Two: spend a therapeutic couple of hours in her room reading manga, baking brownies for herself, and taking depressed selfies.

Or three, what we were doing now.

“Sixty-seven! Sixty- _seven_!” Honey Lemon whined. “Who do you know racks up that big of a number without even _trying?”_

I shrugged then handed her a new tissue. She blew her nose and threw it into the giant pink trashcan we had on hand specifically for this occasion.

I thought Honey Lemon was going to go off on another tirade, bemoaning her problems, and bouncing her self-reflections on me as extroverts are wont to do, then I would listen and sometimes offer genuine comments and replies, because I care about her and the last thing I want to do is make her mad at me and even more horribly depressed if she finds out I wasn't.

Instead, she did something different this time: “What do you do when you go dating, GoGo?”

I blinked. It wasn't that I hadn't heard Honey Lemon's question, I did. It was just that I realized it was an _actual_ question, one she expected an answer to.

The honest answer was “I don't date, I channel all of my hormonal urges into work, exercise, and violence, with the occasional relief of masturbation.” because “I haven't dated since high school, ever since I found out that boys are stupid and not worth it, girls are smart, crazy hot, and absolutely perfect, and _then_ discovered that I have absolutely no idea how to even approach any of the goddesses I've been attracted to, let alone talk to them or ask them out.” since “I am one of the saddest, most awkward, and most incompetent lesbians in the world.”

The answer I actually gave was the evasive and witty one: “Well, to start with I don't date guys.”

Honey Lemon sniffed and blinked. Tears were still pouring down her eyes and her cheeks, but now it was just the leftovers from the sob-fest she'd just had.

“You're a lesbian?” She asked.

I nodded.

Honey Lemon sniggered, by far one of my favourite expressions and sounds in the entire world, especially if I was the one that caused it.

“What's so funny?” I asked, because I am also incredibly incompetent with that thing called “Social Skills,” something I hear is rather important when interacting with people.

Honey Lemon smiled, and wiped the tears from her eyes. I handed her a tissue, she started sopping them up as she explained. “It's just that… would you be mad at me if I told I always thought you were a lesbian? Like, ever since we first met?”

I shook my head. “I am one, what's the problem?”

“It's just that--” Honey Lemon laughed, and shook her head. “I guess people thinking you're a lesbian only bothers you only if you're actually straight, huh?”

I grunted an affirmative.

I handed her another tissue to wipe away the make-up that hadn't gotten washed away from the deluge of sadness earlier. Even with her eyes puffy and red, vodka on her breath, and some traces of messed up make-up left on her face, Honey Lemon still looked damn good.

I never made the realization that this was one of the key traits of girls I had been attracted to, and that I was attracted to Honey Lemon until much later.

Again, sad, awkward, incompetent lesbian.

Honey Lemon sat up and flipped herself over so now she was reclining on Baymax, rather than hanging onto him. She did it so when she looked at me, I was upside down, and when I looked at her, she was upside down. I didn't question it, just excused it as one of those things that made Honey Lemon, Honey Lemon.

It was also pretty cute, though I wasn't consciously thinking it at the time,

“What's it like?” She asked, in that tone of voice that a scientist knows is honest curiosity and genuine interest.

What I wanted to say to her was, “How the fuck should I know?! Do you even realize how many people I talk to on a daily basis, let alone the _zero_ amount of women I'd dated in who-knows-how many years?! I just grunt, make faces at people, and say one word sentences most of the time, sometimes ten or less! Why would you even think that I am remotely qualified to give social advice to majestic social butterflies in platform heels like you?”

What I actually said was, “It's like dating guys, but without the awfulness.”

Honey Lemon looked at me to explain further.

I sighed. “I made a graph of all the dates I'd been on with guys, based on key factors like Inconsiderateness, Lack of Intelligence, and Susceptibility to Hormone-Induced Antics. When I added them all up in a line graph, it formed a testosterone-fueled rainbow reaching up into the stratosphere.”

Honey Lemon laughed. I didn't think it was funny, because it was a very sad reality of my life, but damn if she wasn't infectious and made me smirk.

“So you actually studied your past dates, tried to find an empirical reason, and mathematical proof on why they didn't work out?”

I nodded. “I'm a scientist, it's what I do.”

Honey Lemon looked up at the ceiling and hummed. “Maybe I should do that, too...”

“I feel inclined to inform you that there does not yet appear to be an accepted, standardized means of measuring human emotions.” Baymax chimed in.

I shrugged. “Hey, even if it won't hold up to peer review, it still worked for me.”

Honey Lemon pulled out her phone, and got out the note taking apps. “You mind telling me how exactly you quantified those factors?” She asked as she looked back at me again.

“Well, why don't you just save yourself some time and do what I did?” I joked.

Honey Lemon blinked. “What do you mean?”

I looked her right in her upside-down eyes. “I'm saying, maybe the reason none of these guys have clicked with you is because there _are_ no guys that can click with you—only girls.”

Honey Lemon put away her phone, rolled back onto her stomach and rested her elbows on Baymax. “Would you happen to know any lesbians, then?”

I rolled my eyes. “You're looking at one.”

There was a long, awkward pause between us, with Honey Lemon just looking at me.

“What…?” I said.

Honey Lemon blushed and looked away. “Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that I—I—I, uh...” She started burning two holes in the floor.

“It would appear that Honey Lemon incorrectly assumed that you were indirectly declaring that you wish to date her.” Baymax helpfully said.

If I wasn't so busy turning completely red and deathly silent, I would have been insulted that a robot was better at being a human being than I was.

Honey Lemon sheepishly looked back at me. “Uh… yeah… that. Sorry!”

“It's cool.” I said automatically.

“It's just that…” Honey Lemon looked up at the ceiling this time and played with her fingers. “You know, since you're an actual lesbian, I figure you could help me figure out how to get started. You know, finding other lesbians, talking with other lesbians, dating other lesbians, and such.”

This would have been a fantastic time to tell her I had absolutely no idea how to do any of those. Unfortunately, that was the honest answer, and I used the evasive and witty one:

“Why don't we go to a lesbian bar and ask them for help, then?”

I meant it as a joke. But I saw the look on Honey Lemon's face. It was the look she got when she was about to try a new chemical reaction that could possibly blow up her station and all her neighbours. When she was about to throw a chem-capsule and cause a massive, explosive chain reaction. When she was about to do something and there was absolutely _nothing_ you could do to stop her.

“That's a great idea, GoGo!” Honey Lemon beamed. “When are we going?”

“How about Wednesday? Nothing ever happens on a Wednesday.” I said, because I failed to shut off the part of my brain in charge of words in time.

Honey Lemon pulled out her phone and made it a date. Only the Call to Action could cancel it, and as I said, nothing ever happens on a Wednesday.

“Any specific place you have in mind?”

I shook my head.

Honey Lemon shrugged. “Guess I'll have to do some research and ask around then!” She got up from Baymax and waved goodbye at me. “See you, GoGo, thanks for the talk!”

I limply waved back, then Honey Lemon was gone.

Baymax patted me on the back. “There, there.”

I started planning what I was going to do while I ate the rest of the chocolate and washed it down with the vodka.


	3. Going Down To Where It's Warmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is a modern AU, the author has taken EXTREME liberties with the cast of Frozen. Expect a LOT of things added or changed to make them fit the setting.
> 
> Most of the inspiration for this version of Anna is due to "The Absence of Heat," found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702691

The bar we went to was so empty, there wasn't even a line, just regulars and Veteran Wednesday goers flashing their ID, if the bouncer and his reindeer hadn't just pushed open the doors for them before they could get a word out.

Yes, you heard me right.

I looked at the ID hanging off the neck of the massive man with the dirty blonde hair and the usual bouncer attire—black shirt with SECURITY on it, jeans, and boots.

“Kristoff”

It was in elegant, flowing script that had a flair to it that let me know it was handwritten, or at the very least in Photoshop.

I looked at the ID hanging off the pure black harness of the reindeer beside him, SECURITY clearly printed on parts of it.

“Sven”

It was in the exact same style of writing.

Both of them had “Bouncer” underneath as their positions, and the expressions on their faces were completely serious. Or, at least, as serious as a reindeer could make them.

“I didn't know lesbian bars hired animals for security.” Honey Lemon said as we pulled out our cards.

“Oh, me and Sven are one-of-a-kind—it's part of our branding here at the Hearth, what keeps customers coming back.” Kristoff replied.

Sven snorted an affirmative.

“So, expecting any gay elves, or Mrs. Claus feeling experimental?” I said as I handed over my ID.

“Usually she comes out at the start  of and during the school year; you know, when there's a lot of young freshmen out there feeling adventurous.” Kristoff said. “Besides, when you spend most of the year in the North Pole, summer nights are just the _wrong_ kind of hot.”

I was starting to like this place already, reindeer notwithstanding—I still wasn't sure how to feel about that.

We stepped in through the doors, and looked around. We'd seen pictures and reviews on the internet, but really, it didn't do it any justice.

The inside of the Hearth was what you'd expect it to be—warm, cozy, and relaxed. The floor was massive, but most of that was empty space, every one of the tables generously set apart. They ranged from massive rectangular group affairs, more personal circular two-four seaters, and the giant island counter that wrapped around the bar in the middle of it all.

We looked up. The lights were dim, but they weren't smoky or shady dim; they lent everything a sort of soft, ethereal glow, especially with the way it bounced off the fixtures and the glass way up in the ceiling. There were emergency lights, spotlights, and regular full-power bulbs for when they needed to light up the whole place, but even those were part of the scenery, disguised or integrated into the decorations, statues, and signs as much as artistic license and building code would let them.

The main bar looked like a giant iceberg, drinks and menus carved into shelves and on the surface, lit up by carefully chosen neon and even some really funky and hypnotizing tricks with fluid motion. It thinned as it reached the top, up until it met the beginning of the upside down iceberg above it.

We looked in through the clear window panels that formed its spike shape. An ice golem stood in the middle of a giant bevy of control panels and displays, the expression on his face frozen into a scowl, a bright and shiny princess tiara on his head.

I'd later learn that was Marshmallow, head of security and DJ, keeping a menacing presence to ward off potential antics, watching over the entirety of the bar through the windows or the security cameras, and filling the air with the Hearth's eclectic mix of electronic, jazz, and electroswing.

He was one of the co-owner's more iconic creations.

“Oh hi! Are you guys new? My name's Olaf, what're yours?”

We looked back down and saw what looked like a walking, talking snowman looking at us, and met Olaf, another iconic creation.

“I mean, I already know seeing as Marshmallow's uploaded your faces and details into our customer database, but I just _love_ asking people themselves! There's just a magic that you can't get while crunching those kinds of zeroes and ones, you know?”

Honey Lemon smiled and gushed over Olaf. “Aww, you're so cute! My name's Honey Lemon, and this my friend, GoGo!” She pulled out her phone. “Can I just take a photo of you real quick?”

Olaf gasped. “I _love_ photos with new friends! You mind if I take photos of you guys, too? I don't even need a camera—I already am one!” He giggled.

I sighed quietly while the two of them busied themselves with taking selfies and photos with each other and some of the decorations in the immediate area. My eyes wandered up again to the ceiling, to the parts where it seemed dimmer than most.

It was then that I noticed the Kingdoms of Isolation—little private booths styled like icy towers, with their own fancy spiral staircases going up. There were no lights or decorations showing them off; save the cameras, getting up to one of those was going to be a discrete affair, with how they all seemed to actively throw off attention and to the far more interesting and flashy sights close by.

“If you want to just head up there in the Towers for some private time, I can totally process the transaction for you, if you happen to have a credit card or your phone's capable of payments!” Olaf offered.

I looked back to Olaf and shook my head. “Not interested.”

“Yeah,” Honey Lemon continued. “Right now, we're looking to get acquainted with the rest of the bar.”

Olaf perked up. “Oh, I can help with that! I was _built_ for helping people! Well, actually, I was built because Anna and Elsa wanted to make a snowman in the summer, but then they modified me so I can do all _sorts_ of things— _including_ helping people!”

“Perfect!” Honey Lemon looked to me, a hopeful look on her face.

I was iffy on trusting a hyperactive and extremely friendly AI owned by the bar, but Honey Lemon was smitten with him, and I couldn't find much else in the way of non-robotic staff in the Hearth. Besides, the tiny service bots—“Snowgies,” they called them—didn't look like they were up for much conversation other than their language of squeaks and beeps.

I shrugged, and gestured for him to lead the way.

Olaf tittered and clapped his little stick hands. “I was hoping you'd say that!” He gestured to the center of the bar, with the twin icebergs on the floor and the ceiling. “The best place to meet new people is at the Icebreaker! Lots of folks come there—regulars, new customers, in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and personalities!

“Plus, if you're feeling nervous, I'm sure Anna can whip you up something to put those jitters on ice.” Olaf tittered again. “Get it? On ice?”

Honey Lemon laughed, while I just groaned. Without further ado, we walked up to the free seats at the Iceberg.

I'd assumed “Anna” was the bartender, and I was right—though, the name on her ID was actually “Anastasia.” I sat down on a stool and did my usual protocol with every new bar—check out the bartender, because who they put behind there speaks volumes about what you're getting into.

She had flaming red hair in two pigtails, so bright they stood out clear as day in the cool, blue, and misty atmosphere of the Icebreaker. Like Kristoff, what she wore was pretty simple—a white short-sleeved button up shirt, black slacks, and sensible, polished leather shoes, personalized with a clip-on tie that looked like a blue lightsaber. Her teal eyes were wide and friendly, the smile on her face genuine—basically, she gave me a “I'm a harmless, affectionate puppy who only wants to get you relaxed and drunk, and even then, I'll cut you off before it gets too bad.” vibe.

I almost didn't notice any of that because of her arm, though. Specifically, her _robot_ arm, with its elbow casually resting on the bar.

As an engineer, I studied it partly out of scientific interest, mostly because it was _fucking awesome_. The whole thing started at a metal socket fused just below her left shoulder, the line between machine and woman—and man, the difference couldn't have been more obvious.

Some people want their prosthetic to look as human as possible. Anna's was straight out of a high-budget sci-fi movie, all stops pulled to make it as shiny, feature-packed, and obviously mechanical as possible.

I was pretty sure I didn't need to see or hear the gears and servos whirring between the joints and knuckles of her fingers—but I did _want_ to.

Honey Lemon raised her phone, still staring at the arm. “Can I take a picture of it?” She asked, dazed.

Anna grinned. “I'd be insulted if you didn't!”

She stood up from the bar and started doing all sorts of poses—the classic L flex, the Rosie Rivet, even gorilla arms. Though her other arm was still the one she was born with, she didn't skimp out on that, either; Anna had some of the finest muscles I'd seen on a woman, particularly in her shoulders and her chest, but her legs were no slouch, either.

“Where did you get that?!” I spluttered once words finally came back to me.

Anna chuckled and gave us a casual wave of her robot hand, twiddling the fingers for those beautiful, almost addicting whirring and clicking noises. “I made it myself! I lost my old arm in an accident a long time ago, so _I_ built a new one! Not _entirely_ by myself; though, I had a _lot_ of help from my friend, Elsa!”

The mechanical hand casually spun on its wrist to an impossible-to-humans angle, and pointed.

We turned around, and came face to face with a goddess among goddesses.


	4. Too Hot, What Do?

You remember what I said, about how some of those fans sending us love letters and asking us out for dates thought they could make us change our sexuality once we met them?

Elsa was the kind of person I, without a doubt, would say could make any 100% straight female go lesbian, bisexual, or at the very least, take a good, long, hard look at their sexuality.

She was a woman. Not just in the biological sense, I mean a Woman, with a capital W to emphasize just how much of it she had. The kind writers and artists waxed on about, before the modern day skewed it all up with their super skinny supermodels.

She wouldn't fit in a size 5 dress, but damned if you wouldn't care. She didn't have a dramatic hourglass shape, but you'd be staring at those soft, lush, and generous curves all the same. Her face was that right mix of rounded and angular that made the both of them stand out so much more, and all of them wrench your eyes to her and keep them there.

And she was _so_ much more than just a looker. So, so, _so_ much more, but as of that moment, my brain was only capable of processing how insanely hot she was.

“Hello, my name's Elisa Winters, but please, just call me Elsa. You two new?” She smiled.

I would have told her I would have happily called her anything she wanted me to, if I could speak. Honey Lemon seemed to be having the same problem, so the both of us just nodded mechanically.

“May I know your names, then? I like being acquainted with our clientele, at the very least.”

“She means 'our' as in her and Anna!” Olaf piped up. “They own the bar and run it together. Also, Elsa knows who you two are—who doesn't?--but she likes hearing it from the people themselves, too!”

Elsa turned to Olaf and smiled at him. “Thank you, Olaf.” She turned back to us. “And yes, call it something of a habit of mine.”

Silence. Honey Lemon quickly poked me in the shoulder.

Evidently she thought that because I was the veteran lesbian, I should be the one to speak to the insanely hot woman in front of us, since I had the best chance of not spouting hormonally-impaired gibberish.

I didn't fault her for her logic, seeing as she made the false conclusion because I hadn't told her that I may be a veteran, but that didn't make me good by any means.

Fortunately, Elsa saved us from further awkwardness.

“Speechless? It's fine. I'm used to it.” She looked away for a moment. _“Very_ used to it...”

Before either of us could feel bad, Elsa quickly changed the subject.

“So, what are you two doing here tonight?” She said as she casually sauntered over to a free seat beside me, and looked damn fine while she did it.

She didn't even need to raise her hand, talk, or look at Anna; the bartender just started mixing up a storm, using her mechanical arm, the hidden extra claws and limbs inside it, and her regular one to pull drinks, glasses, and mixers out from the shelves and under the bar and just go crazy.

Honey Lemon and I were temporarily brought out of our hotness overload as we watched Anna juggle, toss, pour, mix, shake, stir, and garnish, then do a few more tricks just for kicks and that added flair. With her mechanical arm and her skilled hands, it wasn't a question of _if_ she could toss a bottle through the air and catch the drink in a glass without spilling a drop, it's how many flips do you want and how far away do you want it to sail.

Things got really interesting when she started pulling out containers and jars that had the Hearth's logo stamped on them, and a whole host of warnings clearly printed on the opposite side. With less flair and more precision, Anna started adding the bar's own additives and ingredients to the drink; it kind of reminded me of cartoon mad scientists who put a tiny pinch of something into a pot and then the whole thing would explode.

The resulting drink was a striking cobalt blue, the ice inside it sparkling and shimmering in the dim light, a cool ethereal mist pouring over the rim of the glass to form a haze around it.

Anna casually sent it sliding off and straight into Elsa's waiting hand, leaving a frosty fog trail that gleamed before it disappeared into nothing.

“Not everyday two superheroes walk into your bar, after all.” Elsa smiled, brought the glass to her lips, and took a drink.

It was simple and mundane, something I'd seen hundreds of thousands of times, but with Elsa it was different—it was hot, it was sexy, it was alluring.

Hell, I was pretty sure she could do that with anything: cleaning her floors, enjoying an ice cream cone, just standing on her own two feet relaxed—just put Elisa Winters in as the model, and you'd have something vaguely pornographic on your hands.

My face burned red as I desperately struggled to keep it from turning into something _explicitly_ pornographic.

Honey Lemon did not have the same problem, taken as she was by a more intellectual but equally consuming desire.

“ _Woah!”_ She chuckled. “Okay, that was _awesome!_ How'd you do that?”

My brain readied a quip about genetics, one that was never used since I noticed that Honey Lemon was asking Anna, not Elsa. That, and my brain was still at a loss for words, so it was just going to get filed into “Clever Things I Could Have Said But Didn't.”

Anna smirked. “Don't ask me, I'm just the bartender.” Her mechanical hand rotated, turned, and pointed at Elsa. “The scientist that created them is right there, though.”

“You made that?!” Honey Lemon cried as she turned to Elsa, looking like a teenage girl within seeing distance of the latest pop heartthrob.

There was that twinge again, but I ignored it in favour of listening to Elsa's explanation.

She smiled, though it was a lot more embarrassed than the one earlier—didn't matter, still hot, which came as no surprise. “Oh, yes; it's one of those pet projects I made back in college, practicing on drinks when I didn't have access to a proper chemistry lab and supplies.”

“She made every single drink we serve in this bar, actually!” Anna proudly added. “It's what keeps customers coming back, aside from the atmosphere, the service, and of course, the people.” She winked.

Elsa blushed and said nothing.

“Chemistry lab, college—are you a Chemical Engineering student like me?” Honey Lemon now looked like a teenager desperately hoping their celebrity crush would look at their direction.

Elsa perked up considerably. Her icy blue eyes suddenly sparkled, and the smile on her face grew wider than I've ever seen it. “Pharmacology graduate, actually!”

Anna coughed. _“Magna cum laude.”_

Honey Lemon now looked like a teenager whose celebrity crush had not only looked in their direction, they had walked straight through the crowds, took their hands into theirs, then addressed them by name while lovingly looking into their eyes.

“Oh. My. God.” Honey Lemon started mumbling it even faster under her breath as she desperately fumbled for her phone. “Do you mind if I take a photo of you, to commemorate this moment? I mean, if that's okay! It's just that, you know, all these coincidences, what with you being a graduate of my field—or at least a related one, and making that cool drink, and being a lesbian--” She paused. “I'm sorry, you are a lesbian, right? If not, I am so, so, _so_ sorry for assuming that since--”

Elsa blushed. “It's fine. I am. Just… recently came out, actually.” She looked away for a moment. “And still completely don't have the hang of it...”

Honey Lemon laughed. “Oh, wow, the coincidences are just piling up, aren't they? I just realized I was one not five minutes ago!”

Anna chuckled. “Elsa gave you your Moment, then?”

“Her _what_ now?” I asked, still having trouble processing all of the stars that had aligned just now.

“You know, her Moment!” Anna gesturing wildly with her hands. “That time when a flash goes off in your brain like a punch to the face, a kick in the crotch, a boot to your tummy! So massive it consumes every last inch of it, and you are unable to think of anything else! And for a split-second, a single realization dominates your entire consciousness:

“Oh shit, I'm gay!”

I watched Anna's hands slowly part in the air, my mouth open in what I think was disbelief, but that could have been a different reason. Namely, the realization that just flashed through my entire mind, overpowering and overshadowing every thought worse than Elsa had, a split second of complete, absolute uselessness where the thought came to life in my mind like a ten story neon sign:

“Oh shit, Honey Lemon's gay!”

I was like that for long enough to not realize that Honey Lemon had already left her seat and had moved to the one beside Elsa. Because she didn't need to talk as loud anymore, and Elsa seemed to be one to prefer quiet conversation, I couldn't hear a thing they were saying.

Whatever it was, it was making the both of them excited, smiling, and even just a little bit red in their cheeks.

I felt a familiar emotion in my gut: threatened.

But this wasn't the kind I was used to, with other runners about to cross the finish line first, masked maniacs trying to stab me with a knife, or Hiro eying my last pack of gummy bears a little too much for my liking.

I knew there wasn't anything violent about Elsa, my gut feelings told me she could be trusted with Honey Lemon, but they also told me about severe, urgent, and very, _very_ immediate danger.

Problem was, I couldn't figure out what.


	5. Drown Your Sorrows In Fire

Honey Lemon held out her hand for Elsa. The two of them spent an awkward, YouTube short-film worthy minute of attempting to lace their fingers with each other, smiling, chuckling nervously, and blushing like two awkward teens.

Then, the two of them walked off hand-in-hand to one of the Towers, no doubt to spend the rest of their night in each others' company. The soundproof walls and the windowless room ensured that no one but them (and Marshmallow) would ever see or hear what happened inside.

This should have been where I'd celebrate, congratulate myself, then text Honey that I was going home and that she could enjoy the rest of her night without worrying about me.

Instead, I found myself watching them as they walked away, up until they shut the door behind them.

This probably would have been an _extremely_ sad sight, especially in front of the bartender, but fortunately for me and unfortunately for her, Anna was doing the same thing.

“Had your eye on her too, huh?” I said, making my voice as flat, emotionless, and vaguely interested as I could.

Anna flinched and spluttered. “ _What?!_ No! I'm not interested in Elsa! Not at all! Nope! No! Nada!" She crossed and sliced her arms through the air over and over again. "She's my business partner and all, that'd beee… unprofessional and stuff.”

I blinked, then stared at her. I'd figure out where the inexplicable feeling of intense happiness had come from later.

Anna blushed and started twiddling her fingers. Even the whirr and whine of her mechanical joints sounded awkward and embarrassed.

“… _Oh!_ You were talking about _Honey Lemon_ , weren't you…?”

I nodded. There were several ways I could have handled this situation:

One, I could completely ignore Anna's outburst, then spend the next couple of hours on my phone, chewing gum, or just sulking while waiting for Honey Lemon to come back if Elsa wasn't taking her home, or vice-versa.

Two, I could text her that I was leaving, then go back home and get some shut eye or find a different bar—though I had a sinking feeling I wouldn't be getting any actual sleep soon, and even as a superhero, going out alone late at night on the city streets was a bad idea.

Or three, I could attempt to get drunk on the budget we had set ourselves, which when you added the emergency funds in case we needed a taxi home, would buy us a grand total of two of the cheaper drinks on the Hearth's menu and let us keep the emergency fund.

(Before you ask, superhero funding stops at equipment, medical bills, and lawsuits from collateral damage.)

I looked up at the drink menus up on top of the Iceberg, with their colourful neon lettering, playful graphics, and even a few moving displays with the help of pumps, suspensions, and the laws of physics. I looked down at the less flashy menus that actually had the prices listed.

As you might expect, there was not a single Cosmopolitan or 3-5 dollar cocktail to be seen. The Hearth made it very clear in their advertising, their design, and their menu that they catered to a very specific kind of clientele, and broke college students looking for a good time on the cheap was not them.

Still, a single drink was better than no drink, and any amount of alcohol would help, if not by much.

“Give me a Penny, Nickel, Dime.” I said.

At the very least, the cheapest drink they served let the customer have some style and retain some dignity when they ordered it.

I looked around. Olaf had already wandered off to help entertain more customers; the rest of the bar had settled into their own cozy, private lulls; and Kristoff and Sven were probably just standing outside, making small talk and passing the time however they usually did.

There was little chance that a new customer would come up for a drink order, and if there was one, I was pretty much the only person left in the bar that hadn't hooked up or was part of an established group of friends.

I looked back at the bar, watched Anna pour me a drink, the serving size perfect for sipping on periodically for a long while, the glass the perfect shape for holding in your hand while looking important or making idle conversation. The Hearth's funky additives gave it tiered colours: bronze at the bottom, light gray in the middle, a shiny silver at the top.

A Penny, a Nickel, and a Dime.

I took a sip of the Penny. It burned, but it didn't burn so bad as to make me choke, gasp, or beg for water. It was a visually interesting drink on the cheap for the person that only needed it as an accessory and as a means to get tipsy—a fancier, cocktail version of cheap beer.

I had to give a lot of credit to Elsa: she knew what she was doing when she designed this, and so did Anna when she made it.

With the rest of the bar quiet, or keeping to themselves, Anna did as any bartender would do: make small talk.

“So, what _are_ you two doing here at the Hearth, before we all got distracted?”

I put my drink back down on the bar—it'd have to last me a while yet—and looked up at Anna.

“You know Honey Lemon's Love Life?”

Anna nodded, then leaned in closer. “Marshmallow's obsessed with it;” she whispered. “He's always using a tiny bit of his processor and RAM to try to make the most mathematically probable guess about her new boyfriend.”

“Well tell him everyone's gonna lose next draw.”

Anna's eyes widened as she pulled back. “Honey Lemon's going full lesbian?!”

I nodded. “Probably, now that she knows Elsa exists.”

Anna chuckled. “Heh, yeah! She's always had that ability, you know—though not intentionally! It's not her fault she makes girls realize they're lesbians...”

I could have just nodded and moved onto other inconsequential subjects, but my mind recognized an opportunity—one I could use to know more about Elsa.

“You known her for a long time?”

Anna snorted. “Practically forever! We've been friends since we were like babies, our families have always been completely inseparable over the centuries, it's crazy. We're not cousins, though, weirdly enough—except for in the Nth degree, but who cares about that but historians and the people who make family trees?”

“She been getting a lot of confessions and love letters for a while?”

Anna grinned. “'A lot' and 'a while' doesn't begin to cover it. I mean, yeah, at the very beginning, Elsa was always the kid everyone liked, or at the very least, the one who was completely untouchable for one reason or the other. Class valedictorian, the leader of the Science Olympics team every year till she graduated, and just a _really_ awesome person, even if she was also really shy and had like, two-three friends, tops, me included.

“But then puberty happened and then all of that excess baby fat everyone kept teasing her about turned into…” She blushed and trailed away. “… Well, you saw.”

I nodded and blushed, too, because my mind did a great job of reminding me of what exactly Elsa looked like, with a little memory license for kicks.

“High school must have been interesting.”

“ _Very._ It was like a love confession or an attempt to ask her out every other day by pretty much every single boy in school except the gay ones, and the lesbian girls, too! She only said yes to the guys up until recently, though.”

“Kind of like Honey Lemon, then?”

“ _Yep!_ She has a bigger total count and less break-ups because of supervillain attacks or kidnapping attempts, though. But yeah, took Elsa a lot longer than most people to realize she was gay. Probably mostly my fault, though...”

I raised my eyebrows and gave her a look that asked her to continue. I took a long sip of my Penny to hide my smile.

Anna bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. “You know how all those classic fairy tales and Disney princesses always find their prince? That somewhere, out there, there's the perfect guy for them, and they'll just know the moment they see them that they're the one, then they get married and live happily ever after?”

I nodded. I didn't say that it was one of the big reasons why I always hated classic fairy tales and Disney princesses.

“Well, part of the Break-Up Protocol is a big ole speech about True Love, how she just has to try and give love another chance, that the One for them is out there, waiting for them, they just have to find them, and when the time is right, they'll meet and know—just know—they're the ones made for each other!

“All she has to do is open the doors to her heart again, let someone new in, or maybe just look out the window, reexamine her life, maybe find out that the person they've been looking for all this time has been right here all along, they just haven't realized yet...” Anna trailed off and stared at the bar.

Unfortunately for the both of us, I couldn't think of anything to keep the conversation going.

Anna looked back at me, then to my now almost empty Penny. “You want another drink? We don't close for another couple of hours, there's plenty of time till last call.”

I downed the last of my drink, set it down on the bar, and shook my head. “Broke college student.”

“You want to know how to get a drink on the house?” Anna asked.

Here's a helpful life tip: if a stranger offers you a drink, don't accept it. Especially if getting said drink involves a release form, otherwise known as how people avoid getting sued if something goes horribly wrong.

This also extends to people you know the names of, but are otherwise total strangers, like, say, bartenders you've just met that night.

I watched as Anna poured and mixed a new glass, one with a lot less style and flair as if she was just focusing on getting it made than putting on a show. That should have been my first warning, but I was still feeling crappy from earlier and the Penny had only put so much alcohol into my system.

“This one's called the Boozy Lightning!” Anna said as the orange, gold, and red fluids filled up the glass. “You know, from Greasy Lightning, when something's fast? It's supposed to be able to get you drunk quickly and for cheap.”

I scowled. “Why isn't this on the menu?”

“Elsa still hasn't perfected the formula yet, got it to do what it's supposed to do exactly how and when she wants it to.” Anna explained as she put in the finishing touch—a syrup garnish that spelled “42.”

I scowled even deeper. “Is this thing gonna kill me?”

Anna snorted. “Of course not! We tested this latest formula out on Kristoff, and he's still alive and fine, isn't he?”

That should have been my second warning, given the extreme physical differences between me and Kristoff, seeing as my feet didn't even reach the goddamn floor, and he had trouble walking straight into smaller doors.

“Let me just get my camera out, record this properly!” Anna said as she held up her mechanical hand and a tiny camera popped out of her forearm.

My third warning. And when you ignore the third, there really is no helping you.

The Lightning was served up in a tiny glass, just a little bit bigger than a shot, and I downed it in much the same way. True to its name, it zipped straight down my throat in seconds, and left a trail of fire from the tip of my tongue all the way down to the pit of stomach.

I coughed, spluttered, and set the glass back down on the bar.

“The burning's part of the thrill!” Anna explained quickly. “You feeling any drunker yet?”

I groaned and shook my head. “Still just tipsy.”

Anna frowned. “That's weird! It's not supposed to take this lo--”  



	6. Answer's At The Bottom Of The Bottle

My head was pounding, as if I'd been struck with the wrath of 10,000 vindicated fangirls. My throat was on fire, burning hotter than the comments sections on YouTube. Any source of light blinded me, as if I were staring directly at the bare chest of a sparkly vampire.

To top it all off, I didn't know where the _fuck_ I'd ended up, but I was lying on something soft, the room smelled heavily of chocolate, and it had decent insulation at the very least, so it wasn't all that bad.

“Elsa!” A squeaky, high pitched voice said. “I think she's waking up!”

I groaned pathetically. Olaf's voice was not doing my headache any favours.

I heard footsteps come closer. I dared open my eyes and there was Elsa, holding her phone in one hand, a cup in her other.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Does it look like I'm okay?!” I shouted, before shutting my eyes and immediately regretting my decision.

Somewhere in the room, Honey Lemon sighed in relief. “She's being snarky and mean! That's a good sign.”

Elsa smiled for a moment, before she leaned down over me and held the cup to my lips. “Drink this, it'll make you feel better.”

A continuation of that life lesson from earlier: if the first drink fucked you up, and the creator of said drink offers you a second, use your best judgment to figure out if you should take it. If they look honestly apologetic and concerned like Elsa was, there's a very good chance it'll be good for you.

Whatever was in that cup was cool and sweet, even better going down my throat; it felt like when you finally slathered on first aid spray with anesthetic on a bad scrape, except for alcohol. I drunk the whole thing down, sighed happily as it put out the fire in my digestive system, and started making my headache pound less and less, make everything around me more tolerable.

“I'm really, really, _really_ sorry about the Boozy Lightning, and so is Anna.” Elsa said.

“You should have called it the Sucker Punch...” I mumbled.

“I assure you, most of the random drink testing we do doesn't quite have as potent or… unfortunate of a result as this. Seems that I and Anna both screwed up badly: how much of a kick to put in on my part, how much alcohol you could safely imbibe on her part.”

I sighed. “It's fine. Probably should have realized a free drink wasn't going to come without consequences.”

Elsa smiled. “I really won't hold it against you if you decide to take action on us—not legally speaking, because of the release form, but I'll happily oblige you with free drinks.”

I smirked. “Still marketing, huh?”

Elsa chuckled. “An entrepreneur never really stops working.” Her face turned serious. “You mind if I do some tests on you? They'll be rather helpful for determining what I can use to help you, if we still need to call the hospital, and admittedly, for my own research.”

I grunted. “Go ahead.”

Elsa did a number of tests. It felt vaguely like I was being cared for by a hot nurse, except Elsa was still in that striking blue dress.

… And now my brain was stuck on Elsa in both her current outfit and a nurse uniform that no actual hospital would approve for use.

Fantastic.

Fortunately, Elsa was too busy watching and punching in the numbers and data. _Un_ fortunately, Honey Lemon saw the whole thing from Elsa's desk, and I could she was trying _very_ hard not to take photos and immortalize the look on my face.

Later, people would tell me I made an interesting series of expressions when I was trying my damnedest not to look aroused and failing badly.

“I'll be off collating and interpreting this data!” Elsa said as she left the room. “I'll be right back with some more things that should help; feel free to stay as long as you want in my room, however!”

Elsa shut the door behind her. Honey Lemon got up from Elsa's desk chair and sat down beside me. She looked at me and smiled.

“So, how's it feel, getting in a hot girl's bed without even talking to her?”

I groaned. “Not as good as I'd hope it'd be.”

Honey Lemon's face turned to worry. “I'm really glad you're okay. You have _no_ idea how scared I was when I heard you passed out at the bar.”

I winced. “Yeah, my bad. Sorry about that, especially since I ruined your date with Elsa.”

Honey Lemon blinked. “Date? We weren't dating! We were just talking. I mean, sure, she helped me know what it's like to hold another girl's hand, but c'mon, seriously?”

Now I blinked.

Honey Lemon chuckled. “What'd you think we were doing there?”

My mind ran through the options: hot, sloppy make-out session, for one; semi-public sex, for another; experimental, exploratory groping, for a third; and for all of them, a _lot_ of awkward asking for permission, tons of energetic and high-pitched reactions, and blushing—a lot of blushing. All of which made me simultaneously aroused and incredibly, deeply depressed at the same time, a disturbing, awful, and just plain confusing combination of emotions if there ever was one.

I blushed and didn't say any of them. Or anything, really.

Honey Lemon laughed again, louder this time. “Elsa just wanted to go to one of the Towers because she wanted to tell me about some of her embarrassing stories about coming out, and she was worried that someone was going to hear it out there in the Iceberg.

“Also, it turns out, Anna's supposed to be the lesbian—or rather, bisexual I should ask for advice.”

The sudden rush of happiness sent my mood soaring into the clouds.

“I am totally thinking of asking her out, though.”

It got sucked into the intake of a passing jet.

“Oh.” I said flatly.

Honey Lemon smiled. “Unless you want to ask her out first! Not saying I'm hoping it's not gonna work out, but you know love: if it's not It, it's not It.”

I thought about it for a moment before I shook my head. “Nah, all yours. Good luck, Honey.”

“Thanks, GoGo.” Honey Lemon smiled, and leaned in to hug me.

It was only for a few seconds, but, cliché as it sounds, it was the longest few seconds of my entire life.

I wanted Honey Lemon to hug me—not just now, not just as a friendly thing, not just for a thank you for being a good friend. I wanted her to kiss me, to touch me, to hold me, and I wanted to do the same to her. I inhaled her scent—now, it was sweet, citrusy, playful and fun, tomorrow I didn't know what the hell it was, but I sure as hell wanted to find out.

Something punched me in the face, kicked me in the crotch, booted in my stomach. The pain was intense, so horrible I couldn't move, years upon years of frustration, confusion, and unconscious denial clearing up in an instant to reveal a massive revelation I'd somehow missed for all this time because I'm a complete, absolute idiot at romance, and a terrible, awkward, and sad lesbian:

“Oh shit, I'm gay for Honey Lemon.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud crash and screaming. We pulled away, shot each other looks, and immediately pulled out our phones to call the others.

You remember what I said about nothing ever happening on a Wednesday? It's still true.

It was 12:37 AM on a Thursday.


	7. Electrifying Turn Of Events

Superheroing does not start when you put on the costume, nor does it stop when you take it off.

If you want to fight crime, especially with the use of powered armour: focus on being as ready, informed, and relaxed as you can for any emergency; always be aware when you're out on the streets or anywhere that might be a common target for crime and supervillains; and you always, always, _always_ know what you can do in an emergency, ideally seconds after you arrive, or it's already second instinct to you.

If there are any civilians in the area, help them get to safety, apply first-aid as you are able to, and help keep the panic levels down. But more importantly than that, figure out if it's reasonably safe for you to be helping them first.

As awful as it sounds, sometimes you just have to let someone trapped in the crisis zone go unaided. Because in the large scale of things, one less casualty, one less injured is always a good thing, and sometimes, the best thing you can do is stay the hell away and save your own ass.

And if you're a superhero, not getting hurt until you can get your gear is going to do everyone a world of difference.

We rushed down from Elsa's upstairs apartment, just above the Hearth. We didn't know the area, so we never noticed that Elsa hadn't left her laboratory and joined us in our mad scramble to the exit leading back outside to the alley, and down the stairs into the bar's side-entrance.

We stopped in front of the door, listened in.

Panicked screaming, fighting and grunting, breaking chairs and glass, and all through it, maniacal laughter.

We looked back at each other and scowled. Not the kind of noises you want to hear.

Honey Lemon dug into her purse for a few emergency chem-capsules she always had on hand, I pushed open the door then put my back to the alley wall. When Honey hadn't gunked any hostiles coming to investigate, we rushed in and looked around us.

It was not good, to say the least.

Marshmallow had jumped down from his booth, one of the panels shattered into hundreds of thousands of chunks. A giant robot that's about as big as a house and powerful as a semi-truck would have made the fight over in minutes, if our current supervillain hadn't brought her usual pack of robot dogs.

Attractive, intelligent, and sadistic, Mistress Elektra had a thing for slavery, mayhem, and BDSM. With her infamous electrified whip and her Obedience Aids—nasty devices that she invented to arm her minions, capture her victims, and keep her opponents from fighting back—any tangle with her was guaranteed to be a race to save innocent civilians, _extremely_ painful, and laced with more kinkiness than most people would be comfortable with.

Her outfit for that evening (as always) toed the line between deliberately sexualized and practical, a skin-tight body suit whose leather and metal bits were meant to protect as well as arouse. If I wasn't so focused on taking her down, I might have thought she was hot as hell.

We watched as Marshmallow struggled to pull off the robot Rottweilers chomping down and shocking his entire body, gradually eating away at his hull and damaging his internals. The look on his face was of grim determination, probably because Anna hadn't programmed him to be able to feel fear.

What robo-rotties weren't attacking him were harassing the bar patrons, herding them into a corner if they weren't pouncing on them and slapping a Shock Collar around the poor person's neck.

“More, my darlings, _more!”_ Elektra laughed as she cracked her whip, sending a shock of electricity through the air. “Let's make this a night to--!”

_Pow._

Elektra flew off as a Bearcat punched her. She was another superhero, one that came to the scene Post-Callaghan—and one we just realized was actually Anna.

I don't how we never made the connection.

Bearcat had two robot arms, one larger than the other, Anna a robot arm that was just as high-tech. Bearcat was muscular and large e even without her armour, Anna was of the same general height and body type. Bearcat was brutality in action, using both her mechanically augmented arms to punch, smash, and throw, and while Anna was beauty and grace at the bar, some of those moves and motions were too familiar to just write off as a coincidence.

Maybe it was the helmet—instead of a clear visor you could easily see in like ours had, Anna had a cartoon bear-cat thing that was always scowling, the teeth and eyes glowing depending on how pissed she off she was.

“I think you got the wrong bar!” Anna cried as she “cocked” the pistons in her hydraulic fists, making that iconic shotgun-like sound. “The _Whip It Good_ 's two blocks from here!”

We were so stunned by the revelation we hadn't noticed three robo-rotties growling and slowly pushing us back out the door, shock collars in two of their mouths. I jumped back while Honey Lemon tried to toss the right chem-capsule at them.

A robo-rottie pounced!

Then a freezing mist blasted it in mid-air. Ice formed all over its body, its mechanics seized as it flew right past Honey Lemon, and out to the alley. It shattered and broke all over the unforgiving concrete.

A snowball exploded between the other two, turning into a cloud of frost before it rapidly cooled down and trapped them both in solid ice.

“Excuse me.” Bearcat's partner, Wendigo (AKA Elsa) said as she calmly stepped past us. She held out her chemical sprayer gloves to the two semi-frozen robo-rotties, treating them to a fine colourful mist that made them jerk, seize, and whine before they shut off for good.

The revelation that Elsa was also a superhero we weren't as bothered by. Wendigo's iconic “hoodie” that kept most of her face concealed and immune from her own freezing mists and the “flavoured snow” she could dish out hid most of her figure. We couldn't have made that connection except for the extremely coincidental fact that both of them were probably chemistry geniuses, but like Fred, someone could have developed, made, and supplied their equipment for them.

We watched as the tide quickly turned inside the Hearth, the robo-rotties and Elektra herself having to deal with two superheroes and the heavily damaged but still combat-capable Marshmallow. We stepped out the door, I closed it, Honey Lemon used one of her gunk balls to seal it shut.

We stepped well out of the way—you never know when it might blow open in the middle of a fight, or a wall would suddenly cease to exist—and patiently waited outside in the entrance to the alley.

“Heh.” Honey Lemon said. “More coincidences tonight than I thought...”

I nodded. Then, the two of us kept watch all around us, looking out for curious civilians about to stray in for a bad time, or if the fight inside was going on out.

I looked up to the sky to see if the others were already flying in. My whole world suddenly shifted and I found myself on the ground, Honey Lemon on top of me.

A mangled robo-rottie flew out of a brand new hole in the Hearth's wall, and passed right where I was standing a few seconds ago. Elektra fled out to the street soon after, teeth gritted, her shock whip still crackling in her hand.

Me and Honey Lemon quickly got up and fled as far away as we could from the impending fight.

“What's the matter?” Anna teased as she casually walked out after her, brushing off broken robot parts off her body. “Am I playing too rough for you?”

Elektra growled and cracked her whip again. “I've tamed unrulier troublemakers than you. It's only a matter of time before I have those silly toys of yours massaging my feet.”

Anna chuckled and readied her arms for another brawl. “We'll see about that.”

It was then that her larger arm—the one that was purely mechanical—sparked and fizzed, damaged from the wrath of the robo-rotties and their mechanical jaws.

For a split second, Anna looked at her limb and assessed the damage. Unfortunately, a split-second was all Elektra needed to rush forward and grab Anna's damaged arm with her whip.

Anna grabbed the electrified cord with her other hand, shrieked and let go as it burned her organic hand, even with the robot arm over it. Her artificial arm started sparking and flailing about uncontrollably as Elektra sent more shocks down her whip.

“Let go of my arm, you assbutt!” Anna yelled as she struggled to keep her wayward limb under control.

Elektra laughed and grinned. “Well, isn't _this_ interesting! Let's see what else I can do...” She casually started playing with the voltage control on her whip.

Circuits and artificial neurons fried and misfired; Anna's arm flailed and whined, gadgets and extra components popped in and out of the hidden compartments, until finally, the whole thing jerked up and socked her right in her own face.

Everyone stopped as Anna reeled from the force of her the punch. It was a good thing she had her helmet on and never defaulted to lethal levels of force, or the situation would have been _much_ worse.

Elektra sent another shock of the same voltage. Anna yelped as she narrowly dodged getting punched with her own arm again.

Elektra laughed even louder. “Do pardon the immaturity, but: stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!”

We watched as Anna fought against herself, desperately dodging and wrestling with her mechanical arm, Elektra's whip firmly wrapped around it.

Remember what I said about superheroing? Here's another thing:

If ever you see an opportunity to help the guys already in costume—especially if they're in a losing situation—feel free to take it.

I won't hold it against you if you don't. Though you should know: sometimes, one more casualty or one more injury is totally worth it.

I jumped on Elektra's back and pulled her down. Too focused on laughing and playing with Anna, she never noticed me until we were both already sprawled on the floor. She shocked my arms right off of her, spun around, then put her electrified glove right onto my chest.

Everything exploded into **pain.** I lost complete control of my body, limbs, eyes, fingers—everything all jerking and moving about all on their own.

Then, sweet, sweet nothing… but not before I heard the sound of Anna's fist on Elektra's face.


	8. The Regretful Morning

I woke up in a hospital bed. Everything hurt, which was a good sign; it meant I probably still had all of my limbs and internal organs intact.

While most people would consider this a bad thing, if you want to get far in superheroing, you have to learn to see the bright side in everything—even if the 'bright side' is the glare of hospital lights searing your retinas.

“GAH!”

Honey Lemon jerked awake from the armchair in the corner. Three seconds flat, she was right by my side, fingers gripping the rail of my bed so hard her knuckles were turning white. I saw the worried look in her face, the way her eyes moved back and forth between me and the button to call a nurse, debating whether or not to press it.

“I'm fine...” I mumbled, even though I still wasn't.

Honey Lemon frowned. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes.”_

It was nothing against her. Me and hospital staff? We had a _long,_ bad history together.

Honey Lemon's fingers relaxed, if only a little. “You need anything? Water? Painkillers? Pillow fluffing?”

“If you can tell me what happened after I got shocked stupid, that'd be great.”

Honey Lemon nodded. “Anna pulled Elektra off you, I gunked her with one of my last chem-capsules. The others swung by shortly after that, helped us finish off the rest of the Robo-Rotties, haul Elektra off to jail, and clean-up the mess inside.”

“Any civilian casualties?”

Honey Lemon smiled. “Nothing a blanket, hot chocolate or a stiff drink on the house couldn't fix.”

I nodded.

Honey Lemon sighed. “I'm sorry, GoGo! I forgot I had that gunk bomb; I could have thrown it at Elektra so you didn't have to jump her and you wouldn't be--”

“ _Honey._ Stop.”

Honey Lemon did, looking like a puppy that had tried _very_ hard not to pee on the floors but just couldn't hold it in long enough.

I raised my hand and put it on hers, gave her a light squeeze even though it hurt like hell to do it. I smiled.

“It's fine.”

It was a great moment for a kiss. If my life were one of those romance novels Honey Lemon loved so much, it probably would have went like this:

“ _She brought her hand to Honey Lemon's face, gently caressed the soft skin of her cheek._

_'I love you.' GoGo whispered, before she leaned forward._

_Her muscles ached and burned, the scars of last night still fresh, but as her lips touched hers, the pain melted away, till all she could think of was how warm, how soft, how badly she had wanted Honey Lemon for all these years.”_

But it wasn't, so instead, I got a superhero standing outside my window, knocking and asking to be let in.

“Heeeyyy! Guys! Could you let me in?” Anna asked.

We both looked out the window and saw her standing on the ledge outside in full Bearcat costume, complete with new robot arms. Honey Lemon quickly opened the window, Anna gracelessly tumbled in and ended up a heap on the floor.

She quickly got up, unfazed or just totally ignoring her less than dramatic entrance. “Hi GoGo!” Anna waved.

Normally, this would have been where the sane, rational person would ask “What the hell are you doing here?!”, but I've been in the superhero business a while, and climbing who knows how many stories and entering through the window was one of the less strange entrances on the list.

“Couldn't just use the stairs, huh?” I asked as Honey Lemon walked away to lock the door.

“Yep! Had to take my back-up arms out for a field test, and I needed to talk to you anyway, so I thought: why not both?” Anna said as if this were a completely normal, everyday thing to do, testing weapons-grade robotic prosthesis, climbing up the side of a hospital, and then telling someone something in person.

As weird shit like this was a normal, everyday thing for me, I just nodded.

“Door's locked!” Honey Lemon said. “There's a camera here, but don't worry: no audio, and we're covered under the superhero act; nothing we say or do here leaves these walls.”

“Perfect!” Anna clapped her hands once. It sounded like a grenade going off, but she didn't seem to notice. “So, Elsa and me are totally cool with talking and collaborating with you guys about superhero business out of costume, but she'd really, really, _really_ like it if you guys don't tell anyone about our secret identities and stuff.”

Honey Lemon nodded and zipped her lips. “Mum's the word!”

“Yeah, the full body costumes and the masks kind of tipped me off.” I said.

“Great, thanks! No offense to you guys, but Elsa doesn't like the kind of attention being an outed superhero gets.”

We both nodded in understanding. Though you could ignore the constant flood of messages, articles, and media circuses on a personal basis, there was no way you could get away from it completely short of living in a cave up in the mountains of your far away, exotic location of choice.

Even then, I was pretty sure someone with a lot of time, a lot of resources, and a lot of determination could come up there and bug you for a livestreamed interview.

“You guys _also_ get three free drinks a night at the Hearth for the rest of your lives!” Anna paused. “Well, once we reopen after we fix all the stuff that got broke, at least. It's actually a Superhero Discount, but Elsa says you guys should just say you're friends with the owners—which you guys totally are, anyway!”

Honey Lemon smiled. “That's very generous of you two!”

Anna chuckled. “Hey, GoGo here risked _her_ butt to save _my_ butt, it's the least we can do. _Super_ big thank you for that, by the way.”

I grunted. “No problem.”

Honey Lemon's phone started beeping. “Aw, crap, looks like I gotta go get ready for work.”

“You guys do morning patrols, too?" Anna asked. "Or is this like regular, boring civilian job?”

“The second.” Honey Lemon said as she picked up her purse from the armchair. “Crime never sleeps, and my boss will only tolerate so many Superhero Excuses, so I don't, either.”

“Sure you're going to be alright?” I asked.

Honey Lemon smiled. “I'll just make myself a triple espresso, I'll be fine. Selfie!” She held up her phone.

The three of us posed for a photo, Honey Lemon and Anna at either side of me. Honey left afterward and locked the door behind her.

“You want me to go get you some chocolate?” Anna asked as she thumbed at the door.

I frowned. “For what?”

“You know, for--” She stopped. “Oh. _OH._ Honey Lemon… Honey hasn't told you yet, has she?”

I had this sinking feeling about it what it was, but it never hurt to confirm it. There was always that teeny, tiny chance you'd be wrong, and everything would be all better.

“About what?”

Anna started twiddling her fingers again. With two robot arms, the awkward, embarrassed whirring was even louder now.

“Honey Lemon kind of... sorta... asked Elsa out to dinner tonight. As in, a date, and... stuff.”

Like I said, it was a teeny, tiny chance.

I could feel Anna frown underneath her helmet. “You okay, GoGo?”

“I'm fine.” I lied. My hollow voice probably gave it away, but Anna said nothing.

If it felt like a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut earlier, it felt like a hydraulically-powered fist socking me right in the stomach now.

I remembered something my old triathlon coach used to tell me: “Too slow, kid.”

Only this time, there was no, “Go back to the starting line, I _know_ you can go faster than this.”

Anna sheepishly thumbed to the door. “You want me to go get that chocolate now?”

“Just _go.”_ I whispered.

Anna nodded, opened the window again, and climbed out. “You gonna be okay, GoGo?” She asked.

I didn't answer.

Anna shut the window and started making her way back down.

* * *

Times being what they are and San Fransokyo being the city that it is, Honey Lemon's publicly coming out as a lesbian got a lot of positive attention, ignoring the usual batch of homophobes using her as the latest poster-girl for their claims.

The professional media had a field day talking about her joining the ranks of openly homosexual/bisexual celebrities; the people playing the game about the face of Honey Lemon's next boyfriend let out a collective, disappointed sigh (Marshmallow never really got over it); and the majority of Honey Lemon's suitors changed from straight males to lesbian females, with the minority now straight males who were absolutely convinced they could make her go back to being straight, or at the very least, bisexual.

“There's also a lot of messages from people asking me for advice about how to come out, being gay, and all that, it's crazy! I'm like, 'What are you asking me for?! I'm just as clueless as you guys, still fumbling about trying to figure out everything for myself!'” Honey Lemon said as we were having a Girls Night In on her couch, eating brownies, watching bad movies, and talking.

“I figure they think you can save them from their personal problems, too.” I said.

Honey Lemon snorted, happy she didn't take a bite out of her latest brownie just yet. “Yeah, pretty sure I can't.” Her face fell a little. “It just bothers me how much some of those girls are looking up to me like I'm their best or only hope… but I'm not.”

I reached out for her other hand and squeezed it. Honey Lemon looked at me, I smiled at her. “Just keep on being you; I think that's help enough, seeing someone like them who's happy, smart, beautiful, and pretty badass, with or without a costume.”

Honey Lemon lips wobbled. She sniffed and blinked back her tears. “Thanks, GoGo.”

It would have been another great opportunity to kiss her. But this time, I didn't even think of what a romance novel writer would have described it as.

Honey Lemon was dating Elsa now. And by all the reports, public sightings, and the snippets Elsa was comfortable with Honey telling us, the relationship was going pretty damn well.

And before I realized that I was in love with her, I was her best friend, and nothing was going to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series will be taking a short hiatus to focus on other projects. I will continue this eventually, because it's just too fun not too.


	9. Coming of the Unicorn Kitten

“The break-up was civil, a mutual decision, and neither I nor Honey Lemon hold any ill-will towards each other. We remain good friends.”

That was all Elsa said about the break-up, that was all Honey Lemon said with the names reversed, and that was all the media ever got from either of them. They tried to get more, of course, with the usual bevy of attempting to wile it out of them with silver tongues, bribery, and just good old spying.

If there was one thing Elsa was good at, however, it was keeping secrets and maintaining her privacy. For all we knew, she might have been one of the highest ranking agents, administrators, or heads of security for one hell of a top secret government agency or top secret private institution, because not only did she manage to dodge and foil every last attempt with grace, finesse, and unflinching, brutal efficiency, she also got all of it to stop only two days after the break-up.

Of course, she hadn't done it alone; stopping paparazzi was _so_ much easier when you had the help of superheroes, and a rich friend with a lot of connections in the media world, someone that could make it clear with a healthy donation to the networks and pulling a few favours that if the harassment didn't stop, getting more info on Honey and Elsa's former relationship was going to be the _least_ of their problems.

Basically, Elsa had kept media coverage of the break-up to a bare minimum, giving them no mercy, no bone except this:

“I want you two to come to the Hearth's reopening.”

Elsa said it while we stood in the middle of an abandoned street block, the aftermath of an all-out brawl in broad daylight. Most people believed that superheroes always talked about superhero business in that dead time between the end of a fight and the police hauling the bad guys away, but the reality of it was much more mundane.

With a superhero's unpredictable schedule and the constant need to be on site five seconds ago, you learned to use every last second of the little free time you got.

“I'd like to say it was just for the sake of inviting you two out to a fun, relaxing Friday evening, but it's also a plan to get the media off our backs.”

We nodded and listened in. The reporters had not hesitated to try and get third party information about the break-up—inaccurate claims were better than no statements whatsoever.

“Basically, as a photogenic, easy to write, and easy to cover piece, I'll publicly announce my inviting you two as VIPs to the bar's reopening, then we all talk, relax, and do as we usually do when we hang out, with a side of posing for cameras and interviews, evidence that only the most pessimistic and wildly imaginative could even begin to think is a sign that there's any friction between us.

“You'll have free drinks for the entire night, along with reserved seats wherever you please, but _please,_ don't get too drunk; the last thing we need is an alcohol-fueled scandal.”

I shuddered. After the incident with the Boozy Lightning, I was reluctant to even try to get up to “Tipsy.”

“Plus, it'll be a great opportunity for us to introduce you to a friend of ours you might like, Honey Lemon!” Anna added.

I suppressed the sudden pang of fear, paranoia, and despair that struck me right in the chest. As a benefit of constant, unrelenting physical conditioning, I'd learned to hide and ignore a lot of different kinds of pain.

Honey Lemon smiled. “Sounds good to me! GoGo?”

I grunted in a vaguely “Yes.” like manner.

We exchanged details—we were heading there on a Friday, this time—and set dates on our phones and planners, along with good old oral confirmation.

“Anything I should know about your friend, by the way? Likes, dislikes, type?” Honey Lemon asked.

“Or, you know, her _name?”_ I added.

Elsa smiled. “It's best if you meet her in person.”

Anna chuckled. “Words and pictures don't exactly do her justice.”

To me, that was a serious warning sign: people did not withhold information without good reason, usually a negative one. But to Honey Lemon, it just made her more excited, like she was about to combine two compounds and be the first to witness an entirely new reaction.

* * *

The opening came, and we arrived at roughly the same time as our first visit. I wasn't one for standing outside in a line, or being in a crush of people all trying to get their first drinks for the night, along with that first wave of hopefuls that were always a little _too_ eager to want to get to know you better.

Kristoff didn't need to ID us, but we did it anyway, if only to have something to do with our hands while we made small talk for the reporters covering the door.

“So what's it like working as a bouncer for a lesbian bar?” Honey asked.

“It's pretty awesome, actually!” Kristoff replied. “Pay's good, hours are fine since I sleep till noon anyway, and I get to spend six hours checking out and flirting with hot girls, occasionally get some exercise if I have to throw them out.”

“You realize none of them are interested in guys, right?” I said.

Kristoff nodded. “Oh, I know. Constantly thinking about it is how I keep professional. And besides, there's always a chance they're bi or they've got straight friends with them.” He grinned. “And Sven here makes a great ice breaker, among other things.”

Sven hummed, smiled, and nodded.

“So that's why you got him to work with you?” Honey Lemon asked.

Kristoff nodded. “It's mostly because he's my best friend in the whole world, but yeah. He's also _great_ for kicking out the tougher drunks and troublemakers, plus he's extra insurance when I get distracted.”

“I thought you said you knew they weren't interested in you?” Honey Lemon asked.

Kristoff chuckled. “That doesn't mean they stop being hot to me—they just turn into Forbidden Fruit”

Honey Lemon laughed with him, I just collected my ID and stepped into the bar.

Just before Kristoff closed the doors, I saw him ogling a hot girl and Sven doing the security guard “up and down” check for him.

The Hearth was very different from when were last there. Aside from using the repairs as an excuse to remodel and touch up on some decorations, and a few more standing tables to handle the larger than usual numbers, it was filled to the brim with people.

It made the whole place seem livelier and busier, and yet it still maintained that chill, intimate atmosphere where you could just relax, snuggle up to someone, and be lost in your own little world.

I immediately pushed away the musings as to what Honey Lemon's chest would feel like if I put my head to it, and made my way to the bar where we had two reserved seats, along with an empty third—one I assumed was for the friend Anna and Elsa were talking about.

Anna was tending bar as usual, though this time she had a small army of Snowgie bots carting off finished drinks to the customers and helping her mix things up. Elsa and Olaf were running a table testing the latest batch of Boozy Lightning, while Marshmallow stayed up in his security room/DJ booth, keeping a wary eye over the people as he fed them a steady diet of good music.

There was a mattress and a stack of release forms by the drink testing table, which people assumed were jokes until the lightweights started dropping.

“Hey guys!” Anna waved with her organic arm, busy as her robotic one was with making several pitchers of drinks. “Glad you could make it! Anything I can get you two?”

I cringed internally. “I'm staying sober tonight, thanks.”

Honey Lemon eyed the drinks menu up above. “I haven't decided yet! Now that I can actually _afford_ these drinks, I can't figure out which one I actually _want!”_

“I can help make some suggestions for you guys!” Anna said, before a couple of Snowgies walked around from the other side of the circle bar and beeped and squeaked a specific code to her. “… _After_ I go tend to some new customers. You guys good?”

We both replied yes, and Anna quickly scooted off as fast as she could without tripping or breaking something. She explained the irony of her skill and grace in bar-tending and robotics engineering, and her complete lack competency or hand-eye coordination in everything else with this:

“I made robots because they were cool, and tried to learn bar-tending to be less clumsy. Turns out, all that made me is _really_ good at bar-tending.”

Honey Lemon eyed the menu, and out of nothing better to do, I looked up with her. Though the Hearth served up a variety of drinks for many different tastes and alcohol tolerances, they had three popular sections that contained the most variety:

The first was “Fairy Flora/Fauna”, fruit cocktails, wine coolers, and light mixes that cost several times more than what you would get at the grocery store or any other bar and was well, well, _well_ worth it if you gave a damn about taste. Included was “Fairy Wine,” your de facto pitcher drink that'd set you up for the whole night, “Cuckoo Caliente” for those looking for a spicy, fruity, and Mediterrean buzz, and “Hera's Little Helper” for those that needed get drunk but did not have the constitution for the Penny.

The second of this were the “Fire Starters,” harder, relatively pedestrian drinks: high quality whiskeys, vodkas, and beers with a pharmacologist's touch. This was where the “Penny, Nickel, Dime” was listed, alongside the “Quicksilver,” superior to the Penny in every way, the “Golden Fury,” for those that wanted to get smacked in the face by a solid gold brick with an aftertaste of expensive, and the “Bloodborn,” a spiced wine that could make (almost) anyone feel like a modern day vampire enjoying a crystal goblet of Blue Blood.

The third was the most talked about but the least bought: the drinks that were “For the Adventurer.” Some of these actually had legal release forms, and Anna had the right to refuse an order if she thought that your confidence far exceeded your alcohol tolerance. In this land of warning signs, copious disclaimers, and suggestions to safer drinks dwelt the “Shot to the Heart,” the “You've Got To Be Kidding Me,” and my personal favourite, “Somewhere, Scolville Weeps.”

(The story behind the YGTBKM was that it was the first thing Kristoff said after Elsa said yes, she did want him to drink it to see what happens.)

Anna returned to our section of the bar, calmly adding the finishing touches to a bright violet pitcher drink in her organic hand. Just before she could open her mouth and offer suggestions, however, her face suddenly lit up, and she pointed to the door.

“Oh hey, there's my friend! Hey Unikitty!” Anna waved.

We turned around and immediately knew she was in the throng of people.

“Hiii!” Unikitty waved back.

I never realized such a tiny, incredibly chipper woman could cause me such grief, but then again, isn't that always the way?


	10. Picture of the Unicorn Kitten

The very first thing you'd notice about Unikitty was that she had cotton candy pink hair. At the moment most of it was tied up in a bun behind her head or kept at bay with clips, and later, I'd wonder how the hell she'd managed to get it that way in the first place.

The second thing you'd notice about her was that she wasn’t much taller than I was—which was _really_ saying something.

The third was that she was wearing a smart red business suit with a baby blue tie, one that was clearly custom made and _very_ expensive, and that she was loosening and unbuttoning it with the care and finesse you'd usually reserve for old sweatshirts and yoga pants that you'd slept in, especially when you needed to get the hell out of them and into something that'd be acceptable at the office.

She hopped onto the third reserved bar stool—and I mean _really_ hopped, as in she needed to jump, pull herself up, and step on the metal rung before she could actually plunk her tiny butt on the seat with as much grace as she could manage.

Because Honey Lemon was supposed to meet Unikitty that night, Honey was between me and Unikitty, and I had to look past Honey to try and get a good look at her.

Operative word: _try._

Leaning out and looking at the stranger a seat away was incredibly difficult if you couldn't lean out very far in the first place, and more so if the person in the seat between you was as tall as Honey Lemon.

Luckily, Anna immediately picked up on my Tiny Person Problem and came to my rescue. “Hey, you mind if I take a picture of you guys? You just look so cute together!” She was already raising her robotic arm and pulling out the camera attachment.

Our specific part of the bar suddenly lit up with the intensity of two miniature suns at different heights. Honey Lemon and Unikitty both got ready with their cheesiest, most playful poses and their biggest grins, but only Unikitty stood up on her seat so she could actually be seen in frame with Honey Lemon.

Anna snapped the picture, and Unikitty and Honey Lemon both pulled out their phones, eagerly waiting for Anna to forward it to them using her own phone. (Her arm did not have texting or cellular capability anymore, thanks to an incident called “That time I accidentally... texted Marshmallow while I was doing... things.”)

Honey Lemon and Unikitty's phones rang with their own cutesy, anime inspired ringtones, while mine just buzzed in my jacket pocket. They gushed over the photo, debating whose phone it was best to look at it (Unikitty's), then took more photos using that phone.

Anna took that moment to excuse herself and go off to assess the rest of the Iceberg. I used it to pull out my own phone and take a good look at Unikitty undetected.

About the only things I could glean from it were the obvious: she was a tiny ball of endless sunshine and happiness, she was most probably working the creative branch for a very liberal corporation or an indie start-up moving up past garage offices and crowd-funding, and she wore glasses—your standard high-class businesswoman “very expensive, almost indestructible and incredibly stylish frames with the brand name tastefully embossed on the side, filled with equally unbreakable prescription lenses.”

I put away my phone and frowned internally. If I was going to learn anything substantial about Unikitty, I was just going to have to do it the old fashioned way. (And Social Media Profiling was not something I did in general, let alone in front of the person themselves.)

I leaned on the counter. Then I leaned further in so I could actually _see_ Unikitty, because we were tiny people living in a world designed for people who growth spurts remembered to hit. I wasn't about to resort to standing on my seat or sitting on the bar, either.

“So, 'Unikitty'…” I started. “That your real name?”

Unikitty didn't seem have the same issues as me and plunked herself back down on the edge of the bar instead of her seat. “Oh, _heck_ no, but my real name's pretty boring, and everyone just knows me as Unikitty anyway!” She swung her legs as she talked.

Honey Lemon laughed. “Ditto here! I think there's only a small handful of people outside of my family that actually know my real name! Right, GoGo?”

I grunted. I was part of that small handful, by the way, but that fact isn't important right now.

“Besides, Honey Lemon's a pretty good name!” Unikitty said. “It's sweet, it's perky, and it's really cute—just like you~!”

Honey Lemon blushed and laughed a little more nervously. “Unikitty really fits you, too: it's unique and pretty adorable—just like you!”

The two of them shared happy, knowing smiles.

Panic was most definitely rising in me, the kind I can't stamp down or hide. Honey Lemon and Unikitty weren't just getting along fine, they were clearly hitting _all_ the right buttons on both sides.

Fortunately, there was Anna to the rescue again. “So, can I interest you guys in some drinks? All on the house, remember!”

Honey Lemon and Unikitty effortlessly broke out of their flirting mood and turned to Anna.

“I'll have a Cuckoo Caliente, it sounds pretty fun!” Honey Lemon said.

“I'll just get my usual, thanks!” Unikitty replied.

Anna smiled. “On it!” Then off she disappeared into a hidden door in the Iceberg, one thing you usually don't see bartenders doing when they make a “usual.”

My concern about that was overwritten by Honey Lemon and Unikitty resuming their conversation.

“So I see you come here often enough to have a 'usual!'” Honey Lemon said.

Unikitty beamed. “Yep! It's the only place in this city—or really, anywhere in the whole wide world—where I can get it! It's one of the big reasons I keep coming back to the Hearth, aside from the fact that it's an awesome place to hang out, and it attracts all _sorts_ of interesting people!

“Not gonna lie, I was _really_ happy to hear it was reopening tonight! I wasn't sure I could last another night without blowing off some steam here, especially after today.” She shuddered.

Honey Lemon hummed and nodded sympathetically. “Bad day?”

Unikitty's face scrunched up. _“Very.”_

“Want to talk about it?”

“Want to hear me bitch about my day for the next five minutes?”

Honey Lemon turned to me. “Depends. GoGo?”

“Bitch away.” I said. Though I wasn't a fan of listening to other people's problems, it got you a pretty good idea about what kind of person you were dealing with.

Honey Lemon turned back to Unikitty and smiled. “You heard her!”

Unikitty gave the both of us the warmest, most grateful smiles I'd ever seen on anyone, before she groaned and stared at the ceiling.

“Today was Investor Visit Day, and I _hate_ Investor Visit Day, especially since I'm head inventor at the Cloud Cuckoo Corporation and I _have_ to be with them _all_ _ **day!**_ Ugh!

“IVD's been scientifically proven to be the absolute _worst_ days for actually getting _anything_ done at work! Everybody _has_ to wear formal to business casual, everybody _has_ to hide all the toys and the leftovers from last night's game of Ninja Pirate Robot Zombie Pole Dancing—which we usually use for lunch the next day, but 'O h well! It's IVD tomorrow!'\--and everybody has to pretend and put up an act for the investors.

“We all gotta be business, business, business, _numbers…!”_ Unikitty made a sour face at the ground. “Instead of what we usually do: be _creative!_ Be _fun!_ Be _actually_ working, and _doing_ things, instead of _looking_ like we are!”

Unikitty sighed. “For people that are investing thousands if not millions or even billions of dollars into our company, they sure are pretty dumb about what creative types at work really look like! I think there's like, a _handful_ of them that do realize it's an act, but then no one else will believe them so it's a waste of time, so they don't speak up.”

Unikitty looked at us. “That's how you know the good investors—they're the people that know what's up.

“But now I'm free! No more ties!”

Unikitty loosened her tie even more before she pulled it off and unceremoniously stuck it into her jacket's inner pocket.

“No more suits!”

She slipped off her coat and threw it on the bar with the same amount of care as the tie.

“And no more inhibitions...~”

She  slowly, teasingly  undid the top row of buttons on her shirt,  before she freed the bun and removed th e pins that kept her pink hair  under control. She  shook it out to its full fluffy,  luxurious, and  wild glory, pulled  off her glasses,  and  shoved them into her skirt's pocket…

… Then pulled out a different pair with a lime green frame, pink cat ears on the rims, and a tiny blue unicorn horn poking out from the center.

I stared, dumbstruck as the tiny hot librarian image was quickly turned into something straight out of some cute fetishist's fantasy. Honey Lemon appeared to be that cute fetishist, as she was shamelessly eying Unikitty with even greater interest.

“Not a fan of contacts, huh...?” I mumbled.

“Can I put a unicorn horn and cat ears on contacts?” Unikitty smirked. “ _Exactly.”_

“I've never seen those on sale anywhere!” Honey Lemon cried. “Where'd you get them?”

Unikitty beamed. “They're a Unikitty original! No else had the idea of Unicorn Kitten glasses or sell it, so I just decided to make my own!”

“Awww, they're so cute! _Foto, foto!”_ Honey Lemon said as she pulled out her phone and took more pictures of Unikitty—pictures she was all too happy to pose for in a variety of… interesting poses.

I watched, trying to keep my face as neutral and vaguely interested as possible, which wasn't very easy. “That's uh… a pretty original idea.” I said.

“Mhmm!” Unikitty replied, smiling. “Any idea is a good idea! Except the _not_ happy ones!” She scowled and leaned in closer towards us. “Those, you push down deep inside where you'll never, ever, **EVER** find them~!”

I  instinctively backed away.  Honey Lemon seemed unaffected.

“It's how I manage to be so happy! Just let avoid all the negatives, surround yourself in positivity, let go of your anger and bad thoughts, like _murdering_ _the ever loving crap out of_ whoever stole my strawberry cake slice from the break room fridge, the same one I'd been saving all day just for today, and promising myself so I could get past today without screwing anything up IVD up, which I had when I opened the door to find that _some assbutt_ _ **stole it--!**_ ”

_Bang!_

All of our attention was suddenly on Anna. She had set down a five gallon metal bucket on the counter, along with a number of drinks  and items in containers that had enough warning symbols on them that made you uncomfortable just from the sheer number, let alone what was written on them.

The anger on Unikitty's face vanished, replaced with her usual smiling, sunny happiness. “Oh, perfect timing! My drink's here!”

I looked at Anna. She was wearing an apron, a full-face gas mask, and safety gloves on both arms, ones that reached up to her elbows, with tongs in both of her arms.

“What is your regular, anyway…?” I asked.

“A Brain Eraser!” Unikitty replied casually as Anna started mixing.


	11. Beyond the Rainbow Veil

Here are some warning signs to look for in a drink, especially one that involves alcohol:

1\. The bartender is wearing protective gear, which includes safety gloves and tongs at the very least, a full hazmat suit at the worst.

2\. The ingredients have a lot of concerning names, warning signs, or are compounds and solutions you're pretty sure shouldn't belong in anything fit for human consumption. Doubly so if the name is clearly printed on the bottle but you can't pronounce it.

3\. It's mixed in a five gallon steel bucket, not because of volume, but to keep the drink from flying out towards the rest of the bar.

4\. It changes colours several times.

5\. Adding some ingredients—like a pinch of powder—makes it explode violently.

6\. Ice is put in but it dissolves almost immediately.

7\. It eats the spoon as the bartender stirs it. Extra points if the bartender uses a disposable, edible spoon specifically because they know this happens.

8\. They slam a lid on it, then clamp it down on the edge of the bar to let it stew safely.

9\. The resulting drink can comfortably fit in a highball glass, in spite of its volume being much larger before stewing.

10\. It's called the “Brain Eraser” or an equally suspect name.

A very situational sign is that if said drink is ordered by a petite, harmless looking female, think thrice before getting one for yourself, because she may be a freak of nature that has superhuman constitution and can down these things without passing out immediately or needing a trip to the emergency room.

The Brain Eraser was milky white and bright, though there was no mistaking that there was something distinctly _off_ about it—a menacing aura, so large that you didn't even need to sniff or taste it to know that it wasn't some new brand of milk drink.

Me and Honey Lemon watched as Unikitty picked it up and knocked it back with a few quick, lengthy gulps. Anna quickly served up Honey's Cuckoo Caliente, before summoning a few Snowgies to help her put the Brain Eraser's ingredients back.

Unikitty drained every last drop, put the glass back down on the bar, and sighed happily. _“Muuuch_ better...” She smiled dreamily, before turning to us. “Hiii! I'm Unikitty, and I think I remember I was talking to you guys!”

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not so I just kept my mouth shut. Honey Lemon smiled nervously and tried to return to the conversation before Unikitty's rant.

“Yeah, you were! I'm Honey Lemon, and this is GoGo, and you were just telling us about your--”

“Woah there, hold it please! I remember now! I was having a super awesome time with you two—especially you--” She winked at Honey. “But then something happened that made me feel better about something then really, really, _really_ angry! So whatever that was, please don't remind me!”

Honey Lemon smiled and gave her the thumbs up. “Got it!”

Unikitty sighed in relief. “Woo! Thanks~! I've got something of an anger management problem, believe it or not; I'm working on it, but sometimes, I need help like a Brain Eraser! So, what were we doing before I drank this?” She held up her empty glass.

“Uh, you were just telling us about your job! Seems like you have a really fun office!”

Unikitty brightened up considerably. “Oh, do we ever!? The Cloud Cuckoo Corporation is like the best place ever! I'm so happy I landed a job as Head Inventor there, because we make a lot of cool, fun inventions that make the whole world a lot more fun, a lot less stressful, and definitely a lot more colourful!”

Honey Lemon smiled. “Seems like I'll have to think about applying there when I graduate! You wouldn't happen to be looking for industrial chemists, would you?”

“Oh, we'd love to have you! We take all kinds of folks there—for example, my job involves technically involves putting my Industrial Design degree to good use, but I like to think of my self as the Head Idea Person!”

Anna returned to the bar, so I left Honey Lemon and Unikitty to talk shop and network. “What's the deal with Unikitty?” I whispered to Anna.

“Oh, she's just a little… eccentric, but trust me, she's super nice, super amazing, and a great friend!” Anna whispered back. She paused for a few very telling seconds. “Just don't get her angry. You _really_ wouldn't like her when she's angry.”

I cast a glance back at Unikitty. Cotton candy pink hair. Those unicorn kitten glasses. Her tiny frame, probably somewhere around five feet flat give or take, so short she could comfortably sit on the edge of the bar and swing her legs as she talked.

I resolved never to piss her off, intentionally or not.

“I knew I knew you from somewhere before you became a superhero!” Unikitty cried, and I listened back in to their conversation. “I'm a huge fan of amateur cooking shows! When you get to the top levels, everyone's suddenly doing all of these high-class, fancy ingredients and all their 'twists' don't really change things up! Down below at that level, however, people get so creative and it's amazing!”

Honey Lemon laughed. “Yeah, I've had to source my ingredients from some interesting places!”

“I don't doubt you for a second! I still totally think your brownies should have won, by the way; those looked _sooo_ good on TV, I couldn't even imagine what they'd taste like in real life!”

Honey Lemon smiled. “If you'd like, I could make you batch so you can finally find out!”

“Oh, I'd love, love, _love_ that!” Unikitty frowned. “But then I'd have to make it up to you somehow, and it's gotta be something _good...”_

“Maybe we could swap recipes…?” Honey Lemon said in a tone of voice that spoke of much more than that.

Unikitty grinned. _“Maaaybe…_ but not here.” She warily eyed the surroundings. “Someone could try to steal it, and I _hate_ idea thieves.”

“You guys can head up to one of the towers, if you'd like!” Olaf said as he just happened to pass us by. “There's one that's just been freed, cleaned up, and ready to go, actually!”

Unikitty beamed. “Isn't that a really happy coincidence?”

Honey Lemon chuckled. “Very.”

I stared at the bar, pretended to be suddenly engrossed in my phone. I couldn't stop my eyes from turning to the side, however, watching as Unikitty pulled out her (platinum) card, Honey Lemon swept her off the bar and back onto her feet, and two of them walked off to the towers, beaming so brightly you didn't even need to see the happy grins on their faces.

“Still staying sober tonight…?” Anna asked softly.

I sighed and shook my head. “What's good around here?”

* * *

**Lucky #69?**

The article had a photo of Unikitty and Honey Lemon at Cloud Cuckoo Corp., having a good time alongside the employees, before it went into the details of both of their past relationships.

**She Wears Business Suits, She Wears Power Armour!**

This article had two separate on-file photos, Unikitty at an old PR event with that same red suit and the professional glasses, and Honey Lemon during one of the better shots after we'd just beat the bad guys.

**A Love Triangle In The Making?**

I only bothered to look at the photo: a shot of me trying not to look at Unikitty and Honey as they walked away to the towers.

If I was holding a print tabloid like so many decades ago, I would have crumpled it between my hands. As I was reading this from my tablet, that thing was expensive to replace, and I had a lot more important things on it than celebrity gossip websites bookmarked, I just shut the thing off, set it back to my night table, and let my head hit my pillows.

My very first time reading celebrity news articles for personal reasons had yielded quite a lot of information. In a short amount of time, I'd learned the following things:

1\. Unikitty was highly successful in her industry, a certified genius beside that, and _loaded._ Not to the point where she lived in a massive mansion and could afford to wipe her ass with live rabbits every time she went to the bathroom, but there was no doubting she had it made.

2\. She and Honey Lemon were pretty much perfect for each other. Aside from the fact that they were both scientists, extremely chipper extroverts, and loved all kinds of creative hobbies, they also shared tastes in anime, manga, and other past times.

3\. There was no way in hell I could compete.

There really was no one to blame but myself. Like all those triathlons and races I used to enter back in high school, the person that doesn't act fast, doesn't give it their all, and doesn't make the leap doesn't get the bright and shiny trophy—or in this case, the girl.

Maybe I'd still lose out to Unikitty, even if I hadn't been such a sad, awkward, and incompetent lesbian and just asked Honey Lemon first, but at the very least, I'd have had a chance, know what it'd be like to be Honey Lemon's, even for a little while.

Now all I could do was wish them well, and try not to hold anything against them. Was it their fault I was like this?

My phone started ringing. It wasn't the ringtone I used for the Call to Action, but it made me scramble for it anyway. A look at the screen all but confirmed I wasn't hearing things:

Honey Lemon was calling me.

My mind raced. Should I answer? Should I let it go to voice-mail, pretend I'm busy? Should I think of something witty, funny, or clever to say? Then I realized I was a grown adult thinking like a lovesick teenager, and my mind screamed:

“Just ANSWER THE GODDAMN PHONE ALREADY!”

I pressed answer and put the phone up to my ear way too fast. Lucky I was alone.

“Hello...?”

I stamped down the part of me that wanted to overthink about how Honey Lemon might have taken that “Hello...?” This wasn't the first time Honey Lemon called me, and this certainly wasn't the worst way I'd greeted her after answering the phone.

But it _was_ the first time Honey Lemon's called me since I realized I was in love with her. Besides that, I was a very “in-person” or “just text me” kind of person and no one _ever_ called me unless it was important.

“Hey GoGo! You have a few minutes?”

I resisted the urge to blurt out the incredibly sad truth, “Yeah, I'm actually just laying around in my room half-naked reading up on you online like a stalker so I can remind myself of all the different ways I can't compete against your new girlfriend—like I'm pretty sure she'll pull off some expert level Krav Maga shit on me if I tried to fight her.”

Instead, I just said, “Yeah, what's up?”

“Cloud Cuckoo's having a big demo, showing off their tech, a 'fun and games for everyone' event a few weeks from now! Slots are limited, and official invites haven't gone out yet, but Unikitty can pull a few strings and get us both on the VIP list. You interested?”

I thought about it. Did I want to spend a whole night watching Honey Lemon and Unikitty having a good time together, while I stood around as the “best friend that tagged along”?

I shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Happy to hear that, GoGo! I'll send you details later! Gotta go—Unikitty's on the pole and everyone's telling me I don't want to miss this! Bye GoGo!”

“Yeah… bye Honey.”

I hung up before I could screw things up. Then, I spent the rest of the night debating if I should tell her I changed my mind.

There was also trying not to imagine Honey Lemon as a stripper, but that… that's not important to the story.


	12. Colour, Candy, and Chaos at Cloud Cuckoo Land

I tried to convince myself I was doing this because I was Honey Lemon's best friend, nothing more.

But I think we all know the answer to that.

I was standing outside of a massive convention hall in the very heart of San Fransokyo, the kind of place that usually hosted the double or triple digit anniversaries of Big organizations, a convention like Comic-Con, or someone that wanted to hold a PR event that told the whole world they were in the big leagues now.

And you couldn't really get much bigger than a giant statue of a bright pink unicorn kitten right outside the door.

The rest of “Cloud Cuckoo Land” was no less colourful, or unabashedly screaming in your face. If there was a colour in the visible spectrum, they used it, from the video advertisements and the signs on the show floor; to the giant golden brown chocolate, rich strawberry pink, and creamy white vanilla fountains; to the colourful sweet, sour, sugary, spicy, salty, savoury and every other flavour out there treats Cloud Cuckoo's tech produced.

Just looking at it as I rode in on my bike made me squint. Standing right outside the doors I couldn't look at anything but the floor for more than half a minute—thankfully, Cloud Cuckoo wasn't rich enough to be able to replace the original rugs inside or the plain concrete steps outside.

I risked looking up at the crowds of people—mostly kids and their chaperones, about to enter one of the largest candy stores in their lives, some businesspeople in relatively dull suits, and a number of adults who were just as excited as the kids, lugging along their friends and family who may or may not have been as excited.

I tried to find Honey Lemon in the crowds—not that hard, seeing as she stood well above the heads of most people, and it wasn't everyday you saw a Latina with blonde hair and those massive pink glasses—and failed.

I turned to the other side and came face to face with Unikitty.

“Hiii!”

I yelped, stumbled back, and fell flat on my ass. Passersby laughed, while Honey Lemon put Unikitty back down to the ground, grins on both of their faces. I scowled as hard as I could for the inevitable selfie the two of them took with me in the background.

Unikitty quickly helped pull me back up while Honey Lemon tagged it and immortalized it on Instagram. It was hard not to notice that Unikitty had gotten dolled up for the occasion: her pink hair had been tamed, somewhat, and turned into a poofier, more elegant version of its usual self with colourful decorations shaped like gumdrops or other types of candies, but not so much on the hot pink glasses she wore. A tiara was on her head, hard candies with extra shellac instead of jewels, with pink cat ears on the sides and a blue unicorn horn on the center of course. She was wearing a similarly themed “princess” dress, one that was way too frilly, too sparkly, and too colourful for my eyes to safely look at for prolonged periods of time.

And as I looked at Honey, it was hard not to notice that she looked like she always did.

Don't get me wrong, she'd pulled out one of her nicer dresses, the special occasion platform heels, done her hair and her nails so both were sparkly and fancy—but that was what she always did when she went out for a night out in town, a Friday evening excursion, or an event that was important enough to prepare for but not _that_ important.

And unlike Unikitty, I could stare at her all day long.

Honey Lemon put away her phone and smiled at me. “Sorry about that, GoGo! It was too good of an opportunity to resist.”

I grunted, suddenly physically incapable of being angry at Honey Lemon about anything.

“And I'd like to remind you two, as VIPs, you've both got access to chocolate, candy, and alcohol so long as we have some, and trust me, we have a _lot_ of all of those!” Unikitty added.

I came down from my starstruck high, suddenly remembered I wasn't here to stand outside and stare at Honey Lemon all night. I looked at Unikitty and grunted again.

“Well, it's a pleasure seeing you again, GoGo, but I really need to head back inside!” Unikitty beamed. “My subjects”--her face suddenly soured--“… and my investors and the media...”--back to miniature sun--”need their princess!”

Unikitty and Honey Lemon curtsied at each other, and Unikitty disappeared back inside. I swear to god, she must have had some sort of mini-special effects generator on her that generated all those sparkles and hearts.

“The hell was that all about?” I asked Honey Lemon, focusing intently on her to block out the colour seeping in from the sides.

“She's Princess Unikitty right now! Since she designed most of the technology and planned out a lot of the event, the board decided to cut her some slack.” Honey Lemon smiled. “Besides, she's a pretty big hit with the kids!”

I nodded. We stood there for a few awkward seconds.

“Well…?” I said.

Honey Lemon smirked. “Well what?”

“Well, aren't you going to join her and be her royal consort or something?”

Honey Lemon laughed. “Oh, heck no! Unikitty's going to be busy all night, what with the kids, the people, and the PR bits she has to do! If I'm going to get _any_ alone time with her it's after we get back to her apartment later.

“Nope, tonight's going to be all about us!”

I blinked.

Honey Lemon held out her hand. “You're my best friend, GoGo; I'm not just going to forget about you now that I have a girlfriend. Besides, I wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't made me realize I'm actually a lesbian.”

“Best friend” hurt like hell, believe me. But holding Honey Lemon's hand made some of the pain go away, and my default mood was always “pissed off at something or someone” so she never noticed a thing.

* * *

Cloud Cuckoo's main shtick with their technology was that they were modular to the extreme—like LEGO bricks, a big inspiration, individual parts could be used to construct pretty much anything, and the only limit to your uses was your imagination.

Being a relatively new start-up, Cloud Cuckoo had decided to specialize in something near and dear to most of their employees' hearts: candy. They'd licensed the big names for the products they produced—Hershey's, Ben & Jerry's, Nestlé and the like—but the machines that made them was all homegrown tech.

I had to admit, it was pretty impressive from a future potential angle, since the world was only getting smaller and production more flexible and specialized rather than mass producing the one product. However, I noticed a lot of the machines they were showing off could easily out done by more dedicated equipment.

But then again, those couldn't be disassembled on the spot, and used to assemble entirely different machines within the hour.

Like any corporation, Cloud Cuckoo was hoping to become the new standard in industrial and small-medium scale factory production. I wasn't going to think anymore on that, however, because we weren't here to discuss business prospects.

We were here to enjoy ourselves, eat candy, and take photos—or rather, Honey Lemon would do all that, I'd just tag along behind her.

Honey Lemon didn't have a plan—she just let her eyes and the signs take her wherever her interest had been captured for the moment. It was amazing, seeing her whole body light up, filled with so much passion she practically glowed, putting her all into every little thing she did, even if that was just posing for a good selfie with the numerous gimmicks like Rube Goldberg “dispenser” machines.

I just tagged along, watching her, helping take photos, or pointing out things she might be interested in. I didn't pay much attention to the demonstrations, or indulge myself on the free candy and booze. I didn't have much of a sweet tooth, and I wasn't interested in getting drunk here—the possibilities for drunken shenanigans were too numerous and potentially unforgettable for me. And if the outside was painful to my eyes, inside was a full-frontal assault on all five senses.

If I had to come here alone, I wouldn't have come at all. But since Honey Lemon was there, I had a good reason to stay—even if it was only watching her do her thing.

Honey Lemon in turn made it as easy for me as she could make it. We had short breaks at the relatively peaceful parts of the convention hall, she showed off photos and asked me for my opinion on them as an excuse to stop, and from time to time, like after scaring off a barker that was too persistent for their own good, she asked me if I wanted to sit this one out or take a longer break than usual.

It wasn't anything special. Not something you'd write about, or something that people would be interested in. It was the same experience that the hundreds of people around us were having.

But it was just the two of us—none of our other friends, no strangers, and I'm sorry if you're reading this, Unikitty, but no you tagging along. We were having fun, we were looking out for each other, we were just having this thing that, even if so many people were experiencing the same thing, it was our experience, not theirs.

Cliché and cheesy as it sounded, I never wanted it to end.

I wondered if this was what it was like to go out on a date with Honey Lemon, as girlfriends, not friends. Then my thoughts were interrupted when a semi smashed through the statue of Unikitty outside, blasted through the front doors, and out poured armed criminals.

Civilians started screaming and running. Security scrambled and got out their weapons. Me and Honey Lemon pulled out our phones and called the others.

Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, Unikitty saw the logo on the front of that truck, and the sweet, playful princess of sugar, sunshine, and science changed into something **very** different.


	13. Wrath of the Unicorn Kitten

Where there was laughter and fun, there was only screaming and panic now.

Honey Lemon and me ran all throughout the convention hall, looking for people frozen in fear and snapping them out of it, little kids who'd hidden in tiny crawl spaces or the nooks in between displays and decorations, helping security get the herds of panicked civilians out to the emergency exits.

The music and the video advertisements all throughout Cloud Cuckoo Land shut off, now replaced with bright red on white warnings and symbols pointing people to where they should go. But when civilians panicked, there was a very big chance they wouldn't even notice them let alone understand the big, bright, flashing arrows pointing them to safety.

Security tried to fight back, but crowd control measures like stun guns, tear gas, and the occasional real firearm could only do so much against power armour—even if it was just cheap knockoffs made with second-rate materials, made from stolen schematics or very good imitations.

Unikitty was nowhere to be seen, but I was pretty sure she could handle herself; right now, there was the more important matter of getting innocent bystanders out.

And once the others arrived with our gear, there was stopping the Junkers from getting away with Cloud Cuckoo's machines.

* * *

At their heart, the Junkers were tech thieves.

Most of their upper management and rank and file were the faceless, “hunched over their laptops,” or “clocking into corporations they were going to hit” types, but like any criminal organization worth their salt, they had muscle to carry out the jobs that good old hacking and corporate espionage couldn't do.

The Junkers' goons main advantage was their equipment: shoddy knock-offs of civilian and military tech, sometimes heroes' and villains'. They also had numbers, and were all _very_ good at taking orders.

The good thing about fighting Junkers is that they were more interested in tech than collateral damage, injury, and potential death, using non-lethal armaments if they didn't just ignore you outright. Whenever they hit a place, they were strictly on the defensive, engaging or breaking away from the main directive (steal shit) only if it was completely, absolutely necessary.

The bad thing about them was that they were _extremely_ good at their jobs, too.

* * *

More semis, vans, and the one garbage truck came rolling in, all bearing the Junker's symbol, a broken copper gear. Most of them were empty so they could actually haul away their stolen loot, but the ones that weren't carried more Junkers and more trouble.

We knew it was a serious smash and grab, one they had been planning for a long while when they brought out the Tin Men.

They were essentially the Power Loaders from Aliens made smaller, faster, and more combat focused. Most of them were unarmed, but they were still a serious danger, capable of picking up and throwing cars up to half-a-block away or swinging their hydraulically powered arms around with brutal force—or more importantly, hauling away several tons of valuable technology with ease.

Every civilian we could find safely evacuated from the premises, me and Honey Lemon ran up to the upper floors and sized up the situation, looking down at the ground floor from the balconies and the railings.

It was bad. _Very_ bad.

The Junkers as usual worked with incredible speed, quickly and efficiently hauling off Cloud Cuckoo's Tech, prioritizing unique pieces over duplicates. They were human ants in power suits and mechas, a full complement of workers and soldiers charging in almost perfect sync, adapting and reforming as the situation called for it.

Their “Queen” for this night was Tik Tok, one of their best “acquisitions officers” and owner of their most advanced and dangerous Tin Man. She stayed behind on the sidelines, safely inside her suit, directing and ordering around her troops as she surveyed the action from a distance.

We knew from prior experience that she wouldn't hesitate to charge in and put her arsenal of weapons to good use if the situation called for it.

The two of us shared frustrated looks; neither of us were packing enough chem-capsules to deal with this many Junkers, let alone have our gear to protect us from their counterattack. The best we could do was just watch and wait, think up of plans, and look up to the roof and hope we'd see a flash of red flying by.

Then, the rumbling started.

In the center of Cloud Cuckoo Land was Unikitty's castle, a giant structure that was more for show than anything else. We all found out there was more than just chicken wire and support beams behind those fluffy white cloud walls when a giant robot claw tore it open, and the rest of the machine stomped out for all to see.

Turns out, Cloud Cuckoo had a second, less publicized passion that was near and dear to its employees' hearts: robots.

Specifically, _giant_ _ **fighting**_ robots.

“Hiii!”

Of course, there were speakers on Unikitty's bot and a unicorn kitten face in the front of her cockpit, its wide, bright eyes glowing baby blue.

She held out a claw, the parts on it started shifting and turning until it turned into a three-pronged fork. An ominous whine filled the air as electricity sparked and arced between it, a ball of energy forming in the center.

The eyes turned red.

“ _Byyyeee!”_

What happened next is easily described as a giant robot massacre.

The Tin Men tried to engage Unikitty. Being much smaller and of lesser quality, they went flying off as Unikitty swung her rainbow coloured limbs, fried their circuits, or smashed and chewed them up to bits with her weapons.

The working Tin Men did the smart thing and retreated. The foot soldiers rushed to retrieve the fallen pilots first and foremost, and take back their technology second; they weren't making their equipment out of scrap, surplus and discount parts for an aesthetic, after all.

Both groups retreated to the safety of their trucks in case they needed to bolt; some haul was better than no haul and a series of arrests.

Tik Tok jumped down from her perch, readied her weapons, and rushed Unikitty. Unikitty bared her own arsenal and charged. The two of them clashed in the middle, projectiles flying, limbs smashing into each other, bits and pieces of both bots getting torn off or mangled beyond repair.

It was a clash of the titans: a scrap metal giant and a rainbow unicorn kitten bot.

The two of them were evenly matched: what Tik Tok lacked in quality and workmanship she made up for in fire support from the rest of the Junkers, what Unikitty lacked in back-up she made up for by the sheer number of weapons and systems her bot had, let alone the better build quality.

“You call that a bot?!” Tik Tok cried as she tried to saw off one of Unikitty's arms. “It looks like some third grader's LEGO project!”

The arm segmented, the limb neatly popping off into halves and letting Tik Tok's saw pass through empty air. Unikitty rotated her chassis and smashed Tik Tok's front with the stump, picking up the fallen limb with her other arm, and reattached it.

“At least _mine_ isn't made out of garbage!” Unikitty shot back as she quickly raised those arms to defend herself.

Tik Tok wailed at Unikitty, bashing at her arms and hull, making huge dents with her claws while the guns on her shoulders helped chew away at the rest. “It works!” With one good overhead smash, she sent Unikitty staggering back, one of her arms now fizzing and sparking. “Unlike that arm of yours!”

You could feel Unikitty scowl as Tik Tok laughed and the Junkers cheered.

“Oh, you got me on that,” Unikitty said calmly. “Good thing I have spare parts!”

Tik Tok's laughter stopped. The Junkers watched in horror as Unikitty detached the broken sections of her arm, dismantled a nearby candy making machine, and started replacing components till the arm was almost good as new. The weapons systems couldn't be replaced, but she could reinforce her hull with less vital parts, and keep the ones that hadn't been destroyed connected to the main body and functioning.

Tik Tok turned her attention to the rest of the machines in Cloud Cuckoo Land then back to Unikitty.

“Oh, it is _on.”_

Unikitty raised her arms and made a “Come at me.” gesture with her claws.

“ _Bring it.”_

The battle changed. Suddenly, Tik Tok and the rest of the Junkers were playing denial, stealing or rendering machines useless before Unikitty could repurpose them. All the while, Unikitty never let up on the assault on the Junkers, tearing away at Tik Tok, smashing their Tin Men to bits, and scaring off the foot soldiers.

Upstairs, me and Honey Lemon quickly got to work, grabbing carts, dismantling whatever machines we could before we sent the parts flying down below, hopefully so Unikitty could use them. Some made it down, some were stolen by the Junkers, some were added to Unikitty's increasingly hodgepodge bot.

The Junkers' numbers were running out fast, and while Unikitty was getting wrecked alongside Tik Tok, there were no on-the-fly repairs and reinforcements for the Junkers.

We ran out of machines that we could easily dismantle and throw down and started tossing weirder and weirder items: displays, chairs, tables, and several tanks of syrups, ice cream, and soda down below at the Junkers. While you might think that last one was just stupid, tell that to the Junkers dodging falling furniture, slipping on sticky puddles, or being suddenly coated head to toe in strawberry cream.

One robot and two heroes throwing down random crap could only do so much, however. The Junkers launched an all out assault on Unikitty, wailing away at her, wrecking the components right off her hull, giving Tik Tok an opening to grab an arm and a leg and tear them right off of Unikitty's chassis.

Unikitty's robot collapsed on its back. Junkers swarmed her and started tearing the rest of her to pieces.

Tik Tok raised the dismembered limbs up like trophies. “Ha! Whatcha gonna do now, bitch?!”

Unikitty's robot's eyes turned blue. “Activate the self-destruct, bitch~!”

All the weapons systems and the original parts on Unikitty's bot started heating up and sparking. Junkers dropped or threw away whatever they were holding and ran for cover. Tik Tok tried to toss the dismembered limbs but it was far too late.

_Boom._

Shrapnel, fire, and electricity filled the air. Tik Tok staggered back, her heavily damaged bot on its last legs. Junkers peered out of cover and watched as Unikitty's cockpit flew open.

You have never known true fear until you see a tiny woman with cotton candy pink hair in a princess dress come at you, screaming bloody murder with a blowtorch and a power saw in her hands.

Unikitty started tearing up Tik Tok by hand, demonstrating all of her outfits extra features like magnetic knee-pads and gloves and bulletproofing.

“Get this crazy chick offa me!” Tik Tok cried as she struggled to throw Unikitty off.

It was as much an order as a cry of fear. Junkers and their few remaining Tin Men tried to knock Unikitty off, but she was a tiny colourful dot on the vast expanse of Tik Tok. Most of their efforts only ended up damaging the wrong target, till Tik Tok's bot collapsed to the ground, too.

Tik Tok bust out of her cockpit, Unikitty was right there waiting for her with the saw and the blowtorch still running.

Unikitty threw both tools away, grabbed Tik Tok by the collar, and headbutted her.

_Crack._

Tik Tok turned limp, out cold.

Unikitty turned to the rest of the Junkers, still hungry for blood.

The Junkers did what most people in their position would do: they ran for their goddamn lives.

Baymax and the rest of the team dropped off our gear through the roof. We suited up, and joined them as we gave chase to the fleeing Junkers and their cars.

We didn't worry about Unikitty; something told us she'd be just fine without us.


	14. Worse Than Stepping On A LEGO Brick, Barefoot

What's worse than stepping on a LEGO brick, barefoot? Stepping on _several_ LEGO bricks, with both bare feet, some of them coming alone for extra pain, some of them in relatively harmless groups, a few of them joined together in half-finished projects.

The climax to my humiliation conga was me falling on one of Unikitty's LEGO buildings, one that just happened to be in the right shape to stab me in the ass in the most painful way possible.

“Woops! Sorry about that!” Unikitty said as she and Honey Lemon stood barefoot in the safety of outside her doorway and the patch of clear hardwood floor just inside. “Wasn't really expecting anyone except Honey Lemon tonight, so I, uh… never really cleaned up.”

I groaned, scanned the area around me before I put my hands down anywhere near the floor. The last thing I needed was to even out the distribution of the LEGO bricks embedded in my skin. I found a miraculously free patch of floor on Unikitty's living room and pushed myself back my feet, plastic caltrops and all.

I brushed the bricks off me as Honey Lemon effortlessly stepped in, her long legs and her many years of wearing platform heels giving her impeccable grace, balance, and reach when it came to maneuvering a LEGO minefield, not to mention the fact that she'd been here before.

With her tiny size and the fact that she lived here, Unikitty safely walked through the mess of colourful caltrops by following the method to the madness—one that, unfortunately, only she could see and take advantage of.

I picked off the bricks off my feet and swept a clear path for myself with them; good thing Unikitty was pretty good on maintaining the smooth, level sheen of her living room floor. I also took the time to look at the rest of her apartment.

It was simultaneously what I expected and not.

There were more LEGO bricks and toys all over the place, some of them distinctly small-scale models of Cloud Cuckoo tech, but rest of the decorations were sparse, generic, or boring even. The furniture was sleek, modern, and came in neutral tones like a luxurious brown, but the used clothes, the trash from snacks and take-out, and hastily written notes on what paper Unikitty hand on hand at the moment were a rainbow of colours.

Most of all, it was pretty bare; you take away all the toys, clean up the messes, pile all of Unikitty's notes up in one place and hide it away, and all you'd be left with was your standard minimalist modern style apartment, one on the 59th floor with a killer view of the San Fransokyo skyline.

Seems even a never-ending fountain of rainbows and sparkles needed a break once they turned in for the day.

“So sorry about the mess again!” Unikitty said as she passed me by. “The cleaning crew comes in like twice a day, but when I get home, it's just...”

I sighed. “It's fine. Where am I sleeping?”

Unikitty didn't answer. I looked at her and saw she was staring at my butt. I looked back at it and found a few tiny pieces that had stuck to it. Of course, they would be bright pink, the perfect colour to stand out against the black spandex of my armour.

“Thanks.” I said flatly as I picked off the very last of the LEGO bricks off me.

Honey Lemon emerged from a closet in the corner with several buckets, a broom, and a dustpan. “I'll just clean up a little! Unikitty, mind getting started on that late dinner? Or really early breakfast, I'm not really sure anymore.”

Unikitty beamed. “No problemo, Honey! Whatever time it is, you're all going to get some _awesome_ pancakes! Keeping certain foods to certain times of the day is dumb, anyway!” She disappeared into the kitchen and pulled an apron over the ruined remains of her princess dress.

I looked up at Honey Lemon sweeping up a trail to the bathroom. To most people, it'd be a surreal sight, two heroes in most of their gear sans carbon-fiber armour pieces, helmets, and gloves and boots doing regular, everyday things, but to us, it was just crashing at a friend's place after the Call to Action.

Stopping the Junkers took a while, even with the police blockades. By the time we'd done all we could to stop the trucks and them hauling off Cloud Cuckoo's tech on foot or on Tin Man, it had gotten pretty late.

By complete coincidence, we managed to end up a block or so away from Unikitty's apartment, and lo and behold, she was already inside and could wave us past security. The others politely refused and got back on Baymax to be dropped off at whatever safe haven was closest, but I was too hungry, tired, and pissed off for another flight and share a place with three guys for several hours, plus Unikitty promised she could whip up pancakes and let me crash on her very comfortable couch—a claim Honey Lemon backed up.

I really should have realized why the others weren't taking the more convenient option, and how exactly Honey Lemon knew Unikitty's couch was a fine place to pass out on, but at the moment I didn't care.

As you might expect by now, it was a decision I _really_ regret making.

* * *

I wore one of Honey Lemon's shirts because I wasn't on the level of “being casually naked in my underwear” with Unikitty, none of her clothes fit me, and Honey Lemon had some clothes stashed over—no guesses as to why. It was way too big, way too colourful for my taste, and it smelled strongly of detergent, a natural, floral scent that I recognized as Honey Lemon's personal brand of laundry soap, her online boutique's second bestseller after the actual clothes.

In short, it was distinctly Honey Lemon's, and I loved wearing it. (Think of me as creepy if you'd like, that thing was comfy as hell.) I was living the dream, you might say, if it weren't for the fact that Unikitty was Honey Lemon's girlfriend, and she had let me borrow it out of a “best friend” concern more than “comfortable with casually wearing the other's clothes” couple's thing.

Unikitty's couch really was amazingly comfy, and combine all of that with being tired from Cloud Cuckoo Land and foiling the Junkers, and a stomach full of her _really_ good pancakes, and I was out like a light in a minute.

I woke up some time in the early morning to the sound of Unikitty's pans clattering on the floor. I didn't bolt straight awake or yelp like most people; not letting people know you're awake is a valuable skill to have when you have villains fond of taking you hostage or kidnapping you.

 _Not_ so much with this situation, though.

I listened as the pans were quietly, awkwardly put back into place.

“You think we woke her up?” Unikitty asked.

“I don't think so.” Honey Lemon replied. “You want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

Honey Lemon giggled. “Nope~!”

For Unikitty and Honey Lemon's sakes, I'll spare the details of what they were doing exactly. Besides, you're reading this story to watch me suffer.

And boy, did I _suffer._

The smart person would have called out, feigned loudly waking up, or risked looking into the kitchen and letting Honey Lemon and Unikitty know that they were awake.

I didn't do any of that. Instead, I listened to the whole thing happening—it was pretty vocal and attention-grabbing, which is all the detail I'll give you—and tried to reason with my brain that no, what was occurring not ten feet away from me was definitely not what I thought it was.

I tried to convince myself that neither Honey Lemon or Unikitty were the type to do that kind of thing when they knew full well they might wake me up.

Turns out they were.

I tried to convince myself that they were going to stop soon, that within five minutes or so, the lights would shut off, Honey Lemon and Unikitty would sneak back to her bedroom, and I could safely forget this whole thing never happened.

They didn't.

I tried to convince myself that this might just all be a horrible misunderstanding. Being Honey Lemon's friend had exposed me to quite a few gags in anime and manga, and one of those was something that sounded suspiciously like something dirty was actually completely, absolutely innocent!

Unfortunately, I convinced myself so much, I decided to take a peek at them to prove to myself that I was right.

I was **wrong.**

I darted back down, and pretended to be asleep as hard as I could, while all the while my brain decided to be an assbutt and remain completely, absolutely tuned in to the events happening in the kitchen, rather than blocking it out and taking an interest in the amazing view out Unikitty's window, studying the toys still littered around the area, or suggesting to me that I had the power to stop this torture right now if I'd just woman the fuck up.

But apparently I was a masochist as well as a coward and a moron.

I can hide many things, but sleep deprivation is not one of them. When Honey Lemon and Unikitty saw me in the kitchen later that day, you could pinpoint the exact moment that they realized that earlier that earlier that morning was not as secret as they'd thought it was.

Unikitty made me a _huge_ stack of pancakes with all the works. Honey Lemon made me her infamous “Coffee of the Dead.” Though we never discussed the issue directly, they apologized over and over again.

Later that night, I learned that even if I had the constitution for the Brain Eraser, it'd only erase a certain amount of hours of memories, and that I was far past the point where it'd be of any help—a fact that Elsa learned when she tested the first successful Brain Eraser on herself.

What's worse than stepping on several LEGO bricks, barefoot? Well, I don't know about you, but that was a pretty good contender.


	15. Strangers In An Already Strange Place

As part of yet another scheme to get the media off our backs and assure the public that Honey Lemon's break-up with Unikitty—like with Elsa—was completely, absolutely civil and the two of them remained “and are better off” close friends, we sat together at one of the Hearth's six-seater tables on a Friday night, two pitchers of Fairy Wine at our table, three empty seats across us.

“Because obviously, nothing says 'We're over but we're still friends!' like trying to get each other laid, am I right?” Unikitty joked some time beforehand.

The two of them were pretty psyched for it, happily pointing out potential dates based on long-term viability, while I just sat in my chair and looked as cool and detached as I could with a pale pink-purple drink in a Collins glass.

I already knew the girl I wanted in this crowd. Problem was, I couldn't woman up enough to actually try and get her.

(And before you ask: the Patty Cake Incident had absolutely nothing to do with the break-up. “If every couple broke up when they manage to humiliate themselves, there wouldn't be any that'll last for more than a week or a year at the most.” Honey Lemon said.)

When I think about it now, all that scene really needed was camera drones up above us, getting an overhead shot of the bar and panning views of the sizable crowd, with me narrating over footage, the music, and the conversation, before it settled down to me taking another depressed sip of my Fairy Wine.

My life was quickly becoming a superhero themed romcom, I realized, and I was pretty sure someone out there was having a good long laugh at my expense. That I wasn't sure if I was the socially awkward protagonist that goes through a series of character developing (and more importantly funny) incidents and heartbreak before she gets the girl, or the deuteragonist meant to teach people that no, you didn't always get the girl you wanted even if you tried really, _really_ hard pissed me off even more.

And just like either of those characters, I saw Honey Lemon's new girlfriend first.

Our table had a good view of the place, from the doors, the Friday night standing tables, and a good half of the Iceberg. Too busy with the women that had already entered and were mingling at the bar or in the ones flitting about on the floor, they never noticed them; since I wasn't actively profiling anyone, my eyes automatically darted to the two most interesting women in the room.

It wasn't that they were wearing fancy jewelry and very expensive, fancy dresses; though it wasn't the standard at the Hearth, we had quite a few ladies with means who weren't afraid to show it. Oh no, it was quite the opposite.

Being generous? They looked a little roughed up.

Being honest? They looked like crap.

The taller one of them—blonde, I noted—exuded an aura similar to Honey Lemon; confident, friendly, and trustworthy, someone you could lend money or have watch over a valuable item while you ran into the bathroom, and they'd pay you back promptly and it'd still be there when you got back no matter how long you took, alongside a warm smile and friendly quip as they handed it back to you.

The shorter one of them—blue haired, interestingly enough—exuded an aura similar to me: wary, analytical, ready to spring into action if the shit hit the fan, though in this case, the worry was born of them being thrown into a situation they had absolutely no idea how to deal with. I'd assumed from personal experience that this was another Honey Lemon and me, except the role of the “veteran lesbian” had been given to someone that was actually competent and experienced.

The Hearth didn't really enforce a dress code, but there was a bit of common sense and respect that if you got here, you'd dress up and clean up a little. Between them, we had: baggy cargo pants; denim jeans whose wear and tear wasn't from the factory; sneakers; vests that were too small (blonde), or jacket made for rugged conditions and showed it (blue); and a number of curious bruises, fresh cuts, and swollen features that told me the only real preparation they'd done for that night was mop up the blood, ice their wounds, and use a bit of soap and water for good measure.

“See anyone that interests you, GoGo?” Honey Lemon asked me.

“There's those girls by the entrance.” I said.

Unikitty looked and brightened up with the happiness that only comes from recognizing someone you hadn't expected would be there. Honey Lemon looked and perked up with the good mood that comes from finding a beauty in the crowd, one that you've now locked your sights on.

I realized in that instant that I had (yet again) sabotaged my own chances with Honey Lemon, and had probably sentenced myself to another couple of weeks of suffering, sprinkled with a few noteworthy incidents that'd make good copy.

The surprise was gone but the pain and regret was still there, along with yet another mental palm to the metaphorical face.

“I know those girls!” Unikitty stood up on her seat, and then climbed onto the table. “Janey! Athena! Over here, guys!” She cried, jumping up and down to try and be seen over the crowds.

Honey Lemon stood up and held her up in the air so the two of them could actually find our table. Between the music and the crowds, a tiny pink pixie being held aloft by a tall blonde Latina was the only reliable way to get someone's attention.

Athena and Janey made it to our table, and I could get a better look at them now. Janey had a rather brutal scar on her stomach and on one arm, the one that you were sure came with a pretty good story. She had a series of tattoos on her other arm, crossed out silhouettes of some kind of canine.

Athena was wearing a scarf—and, shocking as it may seem—it didn't feel like an ironic statement at all. I'd figure out why she wore that later, and you will, too.

“G'day, Unikitty! Fancy meetin' you here!” Janey said, smiling at Unikitty and extending a hand to her.

Athena just looked at Unikitty and gave her a quick nod to acknowledge that yes, she existed. Her eyes quickly darted to me and Honey Lemon, sizing us both up.

It was easy to tell when she realized Honey Lemon was sizing her up, too, but for a _vastly_ different reason; Athena's eyes stopped moving for a few seconds, as if she couldn't register the fact that someone was checking her out, before she blushed lightly and quickly went back to Unikitty.

“I could say the same to you two!” Unikitty replied as the two of them did some form of elaborate high five. “Sit down, sit down! I have got to hear what happened to Friday nights at Moxxi's, like you usually guys usually do!”

“Oh, that!” Janey smiled and pulled up the chair across me. “Well, you know the kind of place Moxxi runs; if it aint' the booze, it's the boobs causin' trouble, and tonight we had all three in the form of frat girls. You'd think they'd be a better breed than their male counterparts, but it just turns out that you just get two extra places to hit when ya want to make it hurt.”

“A few of them got extremely drunk and much too forward with some of the other patrons, I intervened,” Athena explained as she took the one across Honey Lemon. _“Unfortunately,_ I underestimated how strong their pack instincts were, even severely inebriated.”

“Oh, you shoulda seen 'em, all beer bottles (which they forgot to break, thank goodness), greasy hair, and booze breath just screamin' at Athena! And you should have seen _her_ in action!” Janey laughed. “Oh, they never stood a _chance!”_

“Though it was regrettable that I failed to account for all the beer spilling on the floor...” Athena mumbled.

“Aw, yeah, that's when it turned _real_ ugly. Still a losin' fight on their end, but, ya know, back on the floor and in a puddle of booze. (And other things no one wants to think about, now that I say it.) Anyway, long story short, I jumped in to help, we won, the both of us got good and bloody, and we had a mighty need to salvage our ruddy Friday night.

“So I say, 'To a different bar!' No offense to Moxxi's, but now it was full of unconscious and bloody frat girls, and that just leaves a stain on the atmosphere. (Though you could say that _is_ the atmosphere.) Since our usual turned out to be a bust, I said, why not go to someplace new, get drunk, maybe even hook-up and find a fine sheila to celebrate Athena's hard-earned victory with?”

Athena blushed and made it clear that she wasn't too hot on any of the three, but did so because of Janey.

“And this place has been gettin' all sorts o' action—two real life superheroes as regulars,” she gestured to me and Honey Lemon, “supervillain attacks, and not to mention it seems to be a pretty good place to be if ya want to hook up, ain't it Honey Lemon?” She paused. “I can call you Honey Lemon, right?”

Honey Lemon chuckled. “It sure does! And yeah, everyone does anyway, it's fine.”

“Thanks! So, why not here, I said? Doubly appropriate seeing as Athena here has just realized she was gay, ain't that right, Athena?” Janey playfully elbowed Athena and sent her warm reassurance with her eyes.

Athena blushed. “Err, yeah...”

Honey Lemon grinned. “What a coincidence! I am, too! Well, actually, I've been out and dating for a few months now, but still a newbie!”

Athena perked up. She was a newbie among newbies lost in a sea of lesbians, waters she had absolutely no idea how to navigate, and the only person she trusted had been the one to throw her into the thick of it in the first place with a pat on the back and reassurance that she'd be fine.

If she was anything like me—and instinct told me she was—she'd grab onto the nearest life buoy and hang on for dear life. And there wasn't a safe haven more appealing than the nice, tall blonde woman across her who was also a newbie, but slightly less so.

“Interesting… do you mind if I ask you for some advice? I mean, there's 'veterans' and all but I'm a little… intimidated when it comes to people vastly more experienced than I am.”

Athena looked and sounded like a helpless puppy in that moment. A short puppy with blue-hair that was incredibly well-toned and muscular and could probably kill you with one hand, but had no idea how to get out of awkward situations like this.

Honey Lemon beamed. “I'd love to! If you want, we can get some private time at one of the Towers; they're soundproof and isolated, it'd be just the two of us in there, like the rest of the club doesn't even exist.”

Athena nodded. “I'd like that, yes.”

Unikitty happily hopped off the table. “I'll go find Olaf!” She said before she disappeared in through a sea of people's ankles.

Focused on each other, Athena and Honey Lemon never saw the look of sheer panic and despair on Janey, a telling sign that this was _not_ how she thought her evening would go.

As Athena and Honey Lemon walked off to the towers, the two of us shared looks, ones of sympathy, regret, and well-wishes that only those who'd both had their hearts broken could give and understand.


	16. Like Me, But With Blue Hair

Athena was basically me with blue hair, and that made me _angry._ At myself, to clarify, not Athena. I can't justify hatred for someone who's just unintentionally showing me that I could have had a shot with Honey Lemon, if the similarities between us are anything to go by.

Though she was ex-military and I was an engineering student who just happens to be a superhero on the side, we were shockingly alike.

We were both short, of athletic builds, and had dyed hair. Though Athena's was a more extreme job that mine, that you'd do it all implies a certain sort of personality.

We were both introverts, known for being no-nonsense, straight the point, and keeping almost always to ourselves and making what we did say short. Athena was wordier than I was, with less grunts and meaningful looks, but not by much.

And we were both complete, absolute dorks when it came to romance. I haven't seen what goes on behind either of their bedroom doors or when they're completely alone for obvious reasons, but whenever I see the Athena and Honey Lemon together, it's always going to be the same old scene: Athena blushing, reluctant, and stammering; Honey Lemon being patient, understanding, and amused at her distress.

Ultimately, however, Athena was a better woman than I was, because _she_ had asked Honey Lemon out, and that was why it was her going out with Honey Lemon, not me.

Janey felt the same way as I did—heartbroken, regretful, wishing they had gone the direct approach rather than hope things would magically line up for her—but fortunately for the both of us, she kept most of her griping and bemoaning to her own circle of friends. Much as I found out I liked Janey, I was pretty sure I couldn't handle her being depressed if her being chipper, happy, and nothing but polite could get on my nerves after a while.

We never really shared our woes and sympathized, until one day, I happened to get stopped on the street.

“Oh hiii! Are you GoGo?”

I looked at the teen girl before me. Dirty blonde hair; even filthier dress, most of the stains black or even scorched looking; and a lazy eye. Her socks and shoes did not match, the bunny on her dress looked more than a little unfriendly and suspect, and the way she was innocently looking up told me she was anything but.

I decided to play along, figure out what she was up to.

“Yes. Why?”

The teen smiled. “Just making sure you're the real deal and not some really good impersonator! All yours, Nisha!”

“Who the hell is--”

I felt something sharp stab me in the neck as a hand covered my mouth to muffle my yell.

“Nighty night, partner...” Someone said before my world turned hazy.

* * *

“Aww, c'mon, you won't even let torture her just a little bit?”

“Nisha, we have discussed this: there will be no torturing of any sort!”

“Not even if I let her torture me back?”

“ _Absolutely not!”_

“But what if she's into it?”

“Do you _really_ think she'd be randy after ya just drugged and kidnapped her?”

“Hey, there's always a chance, right?”

I groaned. I tried to open my eyes, but every single part of my body felt heavy and useless. I felt something clamped down around my wrists and ankles, but only barely.

“Oh, good, she's not dead. Tina! You can put away the acid!”

“Aww, but I wanted to melt down a dead body in a tub!”

“Yes, well GoGo is very much _not_ a dead body, and there will be absolutely _nothing_ that will happen to her involving acid, drugs, or other nastiness of any sort if I have anything to say about it!”

A sigh. “You know Janey, some days, you're just no fun.”

“Unless you have some way to get GoGo back on her feet and walkin', I'm not speaking to you.” I could feel a hand on my shoulder, someone gently shaking me awake. “Hello? Hello?! GoGo, you awake in there? You're probably not going to die, but I'd really like it if you woke up proper like so I can be sure Nisha didn't mess ya up too badly!”

I forced my eyes open. I shut them just as quickly as my retinas got seared by the light above us. After I stopped seeing white, I opened them again more slowly.

I was sitting down on a chair that was way too small. My knees were pushed up, level with my head, my arms were behind my back and dragging on the floor. Most of my body still wouldn't respond, but I could move my eyes and talk.

I looked up and saw two pairs of legs in front of me—one clad in a familiar pair of baggy cargoes, a second in denim jeans that looked like they belonged to a cowboy, dusty and rugged. Or, more accurately, cow _girl_.

Janey squatted down and looked at me, a worried look on her face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a steamroller and had all the life squeezed out of me...” I mumbled.

“Specifics? Can you feel any extremities like your toes, your fingers? Move any part of your body except your eyes and your mouth?” Nisha asked. “Basically, do you feel like a puppet with all its strings cut?”

I sighed. “No, no, yes.”

I could hear the soft sounds of Nisha tapping keys on a tablet or phone. “Heh, looks like I still got it~”

“Woop-dee-doo for you, Nisha.” Janey grumbled as she knelt down beside me. “Where's the keys? We're getting GoGo out of here.”

“Ahp-pahp-pap! I wouldn't do that if I were you, shawty.” A girl said—I recognized the voice as the one from the teen that had distracted me earlier. “GoGo's sittin' on a _highly_ sophisticated explosives device that will activate as soon as you remove her and the pressure she's putting on the sensor, and that shit's gonna blow her the fuck. _Up.”_

My eyes widened. Janey snapped her head to Tina. “You planted a _bomb_ under GoGo's chair?!”

“Just a little one! I mean, it's probably not gonna hurt her too badly if you get her away fast enough...”

Janey groaned and got back up to her feet. “I can't believe you guys...”

“What? We _said_ we were going to help you get some info on Honey Lemon, figure out what Athena sees in her.”

“Yes, but you should have mentioned you were going to kidnap one of her friends and interrogate them!”

“Technically speaking, we haven't interrogated her just yet.” Nisha said. "What'd you think we were going to do to get the dirt on Honey Lemon, anyway?”

“Oh, I don't know: _ask her?!_ Check out her Facebook page, trawl through Instagram, look up some forums and see what people are saying about her?! Google exists for a reason!”

“Pfft, that's _boring.”_ Nisha said.

“Plus, it takes a _real_ long time, and some of those guys and gals can get creepy, yo. Like, for _realz_ creepy.” Tina shuddered.

“Wait. So you kidnapped me so you could ask me questions about Honey Lemon. And to do that, you had to drug me, tie to me to a chair, and plant a bomb that's going to kill me if I try to escape.”

“It's not that _big_ of an explosion!” Tina paused. “But yeah, is gon' be a _big_ boom.” She chuckled to herself.

“Besides, you have the hots for her, too; might as well, since you're the closest thing we have to Athena.” Nisha added.

I blushed, my whole face turning red. Though I'll admit that I wasn't the most subtle person in the world about my feelings for Honey Lemon, no one had ever outright said it to my face like Nisha had.

“I do not--!”

“Yeah, that doesn't work when the whole world's talking about why you haven't asked her out yet, sorry.” Nisha calmly said.

I hung my head in defeat. Which wasn't hard, because I still couldn't move my neck.

“… Okay, lets get back to the actually _important_ things: Tina, how do we disarm the bomb?” Janey asked as if she was asking Tina where she left the remote.

“We don't, actually!” Tina replied happily. “The whole thing's got my brand spankin' new _anti-tampering system,_ so advanced and so crunk even _I_ can't get past it!”

Complete silence for a few seconds.

“Got the whole thing on a timer, though; it'll defuse in like, three hours or so? I don't know, let me check.” Tina worked her way between Nisha and Janey, kneeling down to the floor and sticking her head too close to my crotch for comfort.

“2 hours, 47 minutes, and 32 seconds!” Tina read off the ticker that was on the bomb. She casually stuck her head out from just under my butt and stood back up. “See? Just gotta not move GoGo for that long, and she'll be fiiine.”

“So I'm stuck here?!” I yelled.

Tina snorted. “That's what I just said, homie!”

I groaned again.

Janey knelt down and held my face up. “Don't you worry though, GoGo; I _swear_ I will make up for my friends drugging, kidnapping, and strapping you down to a tiny chair with a bomb underneath it, and make the next three hours as pleasant and painless as I can for you!” She smiled.

Her and Nisha's phones started ringing.

Janey's smile slowly disappeared.

“Don't tell me: you're all secretly superheroes too, so is Athena, and all three of you are going to leave me alone here until you can get back.”

Janey smiled sheepishly. “Yeah… pretty much. Except Tina always stays behind and just helps make equipment and explosives.” She stood back up. “We'll be back as soon as we can, GoGo!”

I could feel Nisha looking down at me and smirking. “Sorry, partner; it's time for us to ride.” Her legs disappeared from view as she and Janey made for the door.

“Tina, take care of GoGo!” Janey yelled. “Keep her hydrated, fed, and entertained! And if she has to go to the bathroom… well, I'm sure you'll figure out something!”

“Don't worry homies, I will!” Tina yelled back.

“Real sorry again, GoGo!” Janey yelled before I heard the door close after her and Nisha.

Before I could say anything to Tina, she disappeared, giggling and muttering excitedly under her breath. Soon enough, I found myself staring at a tiny pink table that was the perfect size for the chair I was strapped in. Three more seats were added, one holding a princess doll with a grenade for a head (one that I was sincerely hoping was a dud); the second with a jar with a monocle, a top hat, a mustache, a Sharpie face, and a bug trying to get out inside; and the third empty and obviously for Tina.

Tina soon came around with a pink tea set, a plate of crumpets, and place cards. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as she started laying out a plate, a cup, and a really long straw for me.

“Please don't.” I said, as if that would make a difference.

“Too late for that, homeslice!” Tina said as she poured me a cup of tea. “I, Lady Tina of Blowupyourfaceheim, cordially welcome you to my tea party, bitch!”

So began the Tea Party From Hell.


	17. Tea, Talk, and Motherhumpin' Crumpets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some violent, gory imagery; an excess of curse words and colourful language from a teenaged, mentally disturbed character; casual suicide joke; a little bit of social justice and crusading.
> 
> You have been warned.

“ _So_ happy you could make it, GoGo! The life of a college student and a real-life superehro must be _so_ intensely busy! Finding this stretch of free time to have a tea party with _moi_ must have been such a bitch.”

I didn't reply.

Tina was unfazed. “So, I'm certain you're just _brimming_ with tales of daring and valour, dastardly villains and nefarious deeds, and fucking people's shit up with those _kickass_ shields of yours, so please, do feel free to regale us with _all_ the details!”

If I could have moved my head, I'd have glared at her, but for now, I just stared at the table and the really long straw by my lips.

Tina frowned. “Taking a moment of silence to gather your thoughts and polish up those anecdotes, are we? Well, feel free to do so! Though not quite as exciting and heart-pounding as those stories you have of your adventures as a not-so-masked crusader, it would seem we will have to content ourselves with that past-time of high society, that almost sacred ritual, what we do when we're not talking about how to make more money for our honeys and our homies and our bling:

_"Gossip!”_ Tina grinned.

That got my interest. But since I hadn't realized just how far Tina was willing to go, I still kept my mouth shut.

“I'm sure as we all know, Ms. Honey Lemon has got herself a new shawty for the kissin' and the bumpin' and the hand-holdin'--and wouldn't you know? It's our good friend Athena!”

I scowled. Unfortunately, Tina realized it was just a sign that she was getting to me.

“Quite the couple, aren't they? Tall girly-girl and the tiny tomboy; one's been 'round the block a couple of times—and the alleys, too~”--Tina waggled her eyebrows suggestively, something no teenager should ever do--”the other's just steppin' foot in into the Wild Gay Yonder; and don't they just make the _cutest_ photos on Instagram and the newspapers?”

I growled. Now Tina was doing the ignoring.

A few seconds of silence. Tina mock gasped, cast an overdramatic look of shock at the grenade-head doll. “My _word,_ Princess Fluffybutt, that's quite the claim to make!”

A few more seconds of silence. Tina covered her mouth as if she was trying to hide her smirk and her giggle. “Sir Reginald is right—that's such _inappropriate_ conversation for the tea table! How scandalous! How unladylike! How so _very_ intriguing~!

“Please, _do_ continue!”

I didn't know which was worse at that moment: the fact that I had been kidnapped but a quite possibly insane teenager and her friends, and was trapped in a hellish tea party straight out of Dr. Seuss's “rebellious teenager” years; or that I was starting to “hear” Princess Fluffybutt's scandalous allegations and was seriously forming a rebuttal in my head that was centered around acts like defenestration, dismemberment, and disingenuous accusations.

That I realized I was starting to think like how Tina talked didn't help.

Playing along with the insanity was what Tina wanted, however, and unlike Alice, I wasn't interested in seeing how deep this rabbit hole went. I shut my mouth, tearing away at the wad of flavourless gum still in my mouth while Tina kept on “reacting” to the spurious but colourful and intensely detailed crap spewing out of Princess Fluffybutt's “mouth.”

“But how would she even source a fish of such a specific age, let alone acquire such a specific costume from the theaters, and be able to catch a taxi just like that in New York City, of all places?” Tina asked with honest sounding curiosity.

“Tina.” I said. “Stop. _Please.”_

Tina faked a sympathetic but regretful smile. “Wrong homie, homie! It's Princess Fluffybutt that's makin' all these obviously untrue but _irresistible,_ attention-catchin' claims! If ya want it to stop, you're gonna have to take it to her!”

I was starting to regain control of my body, enough for me to turn my head at Princess Fluffybutt. I stared at that doll, motionless, silent, and completely, absolutely normal if not for the grenade that was in place of its head.

I turned my eyes to Tina. “You're kidding me.”

“Though questioning Princess Fluffybutt's integrity and honesty may be quite a justifiable action right now, I think she's fo' _realz,_ GoGo.”

I took a deep breath, and sighed. I turned back to Princess Fluffybutt. “Please stop.”

I turned my head back to Tina. “Well?”

“Didn't ya just hear her, GoGo?” Tina tried not to grin, but failed.

I growled. “No, I didn't; I think I was still processing where the hell she'd got the kind of bullshit she's been throwing around.”

Tina's eyes widened. “ _Oooohhhh…_ you really shouldn't have done what you just did but you just _d_ _iiiidddd.”_

I snapped my head back to Princess Fluffybutt as fast as I could, which wasn't very. “Yeah, and you know what? _Fuck you_ , Fluffybutt! What the hell makes you think you can just talk about Honey Lemon and Athena like that?! Just because they're celebrities, you think that gives you free reign to talk shit about them and talk about their personal lives to complete strangers?

“Screw you! So they're together, you tell them congratulations, then you ask all the normal questions like how they got together! You don't just fucking go on and on about what they do in the bedroom or anywhere else because that's for _them_ to talk about, with who they want to talk about, not an interesting subject for you to regale us with because you aren't doing anything better with your goddamn time!

“So why don't you just stick that pretty little head of yours up your dainty little ass and pull the pin so no one will have to listen to you anymore?!”

My heart was pounding in my chest; my throat hurt, my lungs were sucking in as much breath as they could; what little feeling I had in my body was telling me something to the effect of “Holy fucking shit that fight against that mutant bear or something was _intense_ thank god it's over.”

I glared at Princess Fluffybutt one last time, and turned back to Tina. Then I saw her holding up her phone, the recording light on, and all righteous anger disappeared in an instant.

I slowly sucked in a breath, then took the straw into my mouth. I had some of Tina's actually pretty good tea because my throat hurt from all the yelling, Tina just kept on recording.

I spat the straw out of my mouth. “You're gonna put that up on YouTube, aren't you?”

“I already am, actually!” Tina said as the light went off and she started typing up a storm, grinning all the while.

I shut my eyes and contemplated throwing myself off the chair so that bomb would blow up and take me out. But then I realized I might survive that and a suicide attempt was just going to become the punchline to the video once all the celebrity gossipers caught whiff of it.

I couldn't see the headlines just yet, but I was pretty sure it was going to be alliterative, catchy, and humiliating. (That the incident would haunt me as long as I live was already a given.)

I was brought out of it by the sound of clapping. I looked around and saw that there was a woman standing some distance away from the Tea Party From Hell. She was attractive, dressed in your usual jackets and crisp clothes outfit that said she was a doctor or a corporate executive of some sort, and had blue hair, like Athena's, only in a lighter shade.

“I can admire the message, but I really think you should have confronted Princess Fluffybutt in private.” She said, a small smile on her face. “I'm Maya.”

I sighed. “No shit. GoGo.”

I suddenly realized there was a steady thudding noise. Like something _really_ big coming closer. I turned to the sound, heard it grow louder and louder, before in stepped one of the biggest and most terrifying men I have ever met in my entire life.

“And this is Krieg.” Maya said calmly.

Krieg walked in with two folding chairs under one arm, the folding table in his other. With one massive hand each, he effortlessly set out the table and the chairs, one for Maya, one for him. He grabbed one and helped Maya into her seat as she gracefully slipped into hers, he pulled his chair back a good foot or so away so he'd have knee room when he sat his 7-foot tall, 300 pound frame on the plastic chair.

The first three things I noticed about Krieg: he was very, very, _very_ muscular; he was bald, with an eyepatch over one eye; and he was wearing a crappy Christmas sweater, festive green with a Rudolph face on the front of it, complete with a red felt glowing nose.

My first coherent thought was this: “Oh, fuck, I'm gonna die to the Christmas Sweater Butcher.”

My second: “Damn it, why did getting into a shouting match with a fucked-up teenager's doll have to be the last thing I did before I died?”

The third: “Where the hell did Tina go?”

I got my answer as Tina came running back with yet more teacups and plates of crumpets, these ones regular sized and more mismatched than the worn but well-loved pale pink set in front of me. Of course, they got the (relatively) normal tea set, and I had to be stuck with a doll, a bug in a jar, and a loopy teen, all while sitting on a too-tiny chair that'd blow me up if I got off of it within the next two or so hours.

“New guests! How exciting!" Tina cried as she poured them their cups. The three of them got into chatter involving Maya playing along and Krieg grunting in a vaguely threatening fashion before Tina before returned to her seat, now angled to give her an easy view of me and their table.

Maya sipped her tea and calmly looked down at me from her vantage point in the realm of relative normalcy. “So, I heard Nisha and Tina kidnapped you.”

“ _Fresh meat!”_ Krieg yelled. “Tied up and brought to the butchers, to spill their blood and guts all over the floor and make it nice and warm and _squishy_!”

“He said, 'They kidnapped you to ask you about Honey Lemon, right?'” Maya said.

I took a few seconds to try to process what just happened, then I remembered that logic and sense had forsaken this place a long time ago, so I just nodded.

“I'd like to apologize for her, too; though I don't think you'd believe me, Nisha normally keeps her illegal activities to… tolerable, reasonable levels.”

I sighed. “Whatever. So, this place always Dr. Seuss' Horror House?”

“I'd call it more 'Hieronymus Bosch in Modern Times,' but yes.”

“Shit never gets boring here, yo;” Tina added. “It's fuckin' _awesome.”_

I flicked my eyes to Krieg, calmly sitting down in his chair, as relaxed as a 7-foot tall brick house in a Christmas sweater could be. I turned back to Maya. “You mind if I ask?”

“Depends. Krieg?” Maya asked him.

“Crack open my skull and show them all the colours of _my pain!_ _”_ He yelled.

“That's very generous of you, Krieg, thank you.” Maya said to him. She turned back to me. “He said, 'Sure.'”

Tina started rubbing her hands. “Oooh, _man,_ this is gonna be _goood...”_

I just sat back and waited to see where else this twisted Wonderland was taking me.


	18. Why Don't You?

“The short answer is, I don't know, and neither does anyone else, it seems.

“The longer answer is, someone or some people have done some terrible, _terrible_ things to Krieg, ones I don't think anyone can legally do, and certainly without breaking a lot of ethical rules and foregoing all semblance of decency.

“The full answer I am legally obliged not to disclose—and besides, it's mostly just reams and reams of extensive reports that, in a nutshell, are officials going 'Yeah, we, don't know, either.'”

I nodded. I've seen my fair share of secret bases and projects that “don't exist” since Silent Sparrow; whichever Krieg came from, I've no clue which, nor did I have any intention of finding out.

“So what are you two, exactly?”

Maya smiled. “Officially speaking, we're healthcare provider and patient, with me being both his nurse and his psychologist; I'm studying his condition, trying to help him recover, and helping him live a normal, healthy life—or as normal as it can get in this city, at least.

“I'm also his girlfriend, and yes, I participate in all the usual trappings of a relationship.”

“She means she fucks him, too.” Tina said. “Like, really, _really_ hard. So hard the plaster--”

“I will admit it's highly unprofessional and will skew my data greatly, but then again, with psychology and nursing, no variables are ever completely isolated, are they?” Maya calmly, coolly interrupted.

“… The walls are triple soundproofed...” Tina whispered to me.

Krieg fidgeted in his seat. Maya reached over, put one hand on his, and he calmed down.

“I suppose you want to know how we met?” Maya asked.

“Oh, I do! I do!” Tina said, bouncing happily in her seat. “Get comfy, GoGo, because this story is one the bestest there ever was!”

I shrugged. Then I realized I didn't have any feeling in or control over my shoulders yet. “Sure, I've got time.” I said.

“The details of how Krieg ever ended up in my university's charity mental health clinic are a mystery, mostly because most people didn't want to even be on the campus when he was put in, but once he was there, there was no moving him.

“There've been requests for transfer to a more professional, better equipped, and better funded facility, but the paperwork always mysteriously got tied up along the way, so there Krieg stayed in his own personal room, the only one with bulletproof glass, 24/7 surveillance, and at least three armed guards—non-lethal equipment, but there've been rumours of them packing more serious firepower on their person.

“Most every other doctor or professional that has even seen Krieg has run away screaming, let alone met him. The ones that stayed usually observe him through a one-way window, or through a remote feed while they relax in their office several states, or even countries away.

“I'm the only one that decided to talk to him like a human being, get up close and personal, and take a more hands-on approach to helping him.

“I can't completely quantify or explain my reasons and motivations. There was just something in my gut that told me, there's more to Krieg than any of these professionals will ever know, but I'm not going to find out what it is if I keep putting him at arms reach or putting a literal wall between us.

“And at the heart of it, I saw a person that needed help, that nobody wanted to even try to help in the slightest, that, once you got past all the screaming about meat bicycles and putting their fingers into someone's eye sockets, there was a little tiny, calm voice asking, 'Hey, you mind if you help us get sane again?'

“So I took a chance, and now several years later, here we are.” Maya took a sip of her tea. “It's been tough, obviously; insane, a given; and some days, I've thought of having Krieg sent back to his old room, but in the end, I've always found a new reason or a reminder that this is why I'm doing this, this is why I took Krieg under my care in the first place, this is why I'm not just going to stop now.

“I asked myself, 'Why don't I just go and do it?', and then I did.”

Maya shot me a meaningful look. I had to give her credit: she was subtle and nice about it.

“Oh, come on!” Tina threw her arms up in the air. “You left out the _good_ stuff! Where's the time when Krieg escaped and ran around on the front lawn in a paper gown rantin' about politeness and manners while he swung a rubber chicken with an afro above his head? Where was Dawn of the Sparkle Puppy? Oh, oh, _oh!_ How about the time you smuggled him back here the first time ever and--”

Krieg stiffened and turned red. While normally, blushing made someone look cute, flustered, or harmless, it made him look like he was about to go on a murderous rampage with just his bare hands. And with hands of his size, you had more than enough reason to be concerned.

Maya scowled and squeezed Krieg's hand again. “That's enough, Tina.”

Tina crossed her arms. “Hmph. Attempt to add a little spice and interestin' details to a homie's story, get _deeeennieeeeddddd.”_

“Just for the sake of full disclosure, I'm under a number of obligations that prevent me from getting into all the details. Chief of which is to Krieg, second to my profession, third to the authorities.” Maya said as she shot Tina a dirty look. She turned back to me and smiled. “It's been one of my most interesting decisions, to say the least; every single day with Krieg is a new adventure, a new opportunity for a breakthrough, or really, just another day being with him and seeing what the hell is gonna happen, because there's always a guarantee it's not going to be boring.

“If there's any one regret I have, it's that I didn't break into his room sooner.”

Tina perked up. “Oh, you have got to tell _that_ story, at least! It's got everything you could ever want!: crime, drama, action, seduction, a little bit of drugs, and even romance~! Not the kind of romance I like to see but POWER OF LOVE, BITCHES!”

“That's still out of bounds.” Maya said. “Though I do have Krieg's explicit permission to tell you folks about the time I brought him to the theater and he ended up chasing a heckler into the catwalks while shouting Cicero at the top of his lungs.

“Cicero's works, to clarify, not just the name 'Cicero' over and over again. You'd be surprised by both his grasp of Latin and how interesting ancient texts can be when they're being shouted in a violent rage.”

Tina crossed her arms. “Hmph. Good story, but still not one of the bestest ever told.”

Maya picked up her cup. “Well, I'm sorry, Tina, but it seems we're going to have to settle with boring conversation for the rest of this tea party; I think we've had enough excitement and scandal from Princess Fluffybutt alone, don't we?” She smiled and took another sip.

Tina made a sour face.

“I can yell at her again, if you'd like.” I deadpanned. “You know, make sure you two get a full performance, since you obviously wanted to hear it to the very end the first time around.” I glared at Maya.

Maya smirked and put down her cup. “I think I'll just content myself with the video; speeches of such passion are never really the same the second time around.”

I swear Krieg sniggered for a moment.

There was another round of phones ringing, though in Krieg's case, it was pressing a button on a device on his belt, one hidden underneath the Christmas sweater. From the looks on their faces, it was more superhero business.

Krieg's was automatically on loudspeaker, letting me listen me onto the conversation.

“Hi guys!” Janey said. “So, beatin' the bad guys today got a little crazy and now we've got a handful of folks floppin' about like fish outta water! We're comin' back to base with a couple of friends so Nisha here”--a pause, presumably to glare at her--”can administer the antidote and get them walkin' and movin' again ASAP.”

“Hey, in my defense, that bitch was really hard to hit and I told you guys to get clear.” Nisha said.

“Well maybe you should have _actually_ waited for us to get clear _before_ you started firing?” Elsa growled, her voice modified by her Windigo helmet.

“You want to go, partner? Let's go.” Nisha said calmly.

“Heeey! No fighting, please!” Unikitty said. “We're all on the same side, here, right guys? Well, most of us, anyway!”

“What does she mean, 'most of us'?” Maya asked.

“ _Let me go!_ I will not be held prisoner by starry-eyed fools like yourselves!”

I recognized that voice and the venom in it. It belonged to one of our regular bad guys like Mistress Elektra and the Junkers, one that never failed to get my blood pumping and my teeth tearing up my gum.

There was a brief, brutal scuffle as whatever phone or receiver they were using was torn out of many hands. We could barely understand what was happening for all the yelling and fighting.

There was the familiar fizz of one of Honey's gunk trap chem-chapsules exploding, and the ruckus stopped. There was a harsh buzz of static for a moment, before we heard someone pick up the receiver again.

“Sorry about that!” Honey Lemon said. “Anyway, big group incoming: me, Windigo, Bearcat, Unikitty, Athena, Janey, Nisha, and a prisoner.”

“Won't even say my name, will you...?”

You could feel Honey Lemon giving the prisoner the cold shoulder over the phone. “Might want to get ready while we load up on the Grumbler!” She said with a voice so cold you'd have doubted it was actually Honey's.

Tina grinned. “Oooh… man, this' gon' be even better...” She stood up and started for the exit. “I'll get a new pot on and ALL THE CRUMPETS! Krieg, you go get more tables and chairs! Maya, get the camera, get the camera! I don't want to miss a single moment of this! And GoGo!” Tina leaned out to look at me from the doorway. “Eh, you just stay there, and don't blow yourself up, I guess.” She left the room giggling and squealing in happiness and exictement.

Maya turned to me with a concerned look on her face. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“If you have gear, put it on;” I said. “Things are probably gonna get _ugly.”_


	19. An Angel of Death, Despair and Douchebaggery Descends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Verbal Abuse

Azrael AKA Angel was an anti-Honey Lemon. Basically, take everything that Honey Lemon is—sweet, kind, and compassionate—and turn all of that to their polar opposites.

She was an incredibly dangerous hitwoman/supervillain for whoever had the cash, with an incredibly pessimistic and defeatist view of _everything_ , and a mouth that will not stop spewing personalized insults, harsh language, and Machiavelli and philosopher's works taken out of context.

I think she fancied herself some sort of modern day boogeyman, a “Bringer of Death” that showed up with guns, chemical warfare, and no shortage of bladed weapons in corporate offices, fancy apartments or mansions, and leisure centers for the wealthy, speeding up the end process of all things: “a painful end full of misery, suffering, and regret” while delivering some poetic, mood-enhancing quotes.

I thought she was just a violent lunatic who needed to learn the value of shutting the fuck up sometimes.

Her story varies but the one thing consistent about it was that she was a child soldier for a shady corporation somewhere, and had been through a lot of shit. Governments being what they are, she ended up in the hands of a more subtle shady corporation's private army instead of a maximum security prison, to be treated by a therapist with a death wish.

Some time after the Krei Tech incident, she went AWOL and started freelancing with her pseudo-religious get-up with the hooded robe and the vaguely angelic designs, and her seemingly never-ending supply of armaments.

So it was that she was carted into the room completely trapped in a cocoon of chemical gunk, just enough of her freed to turn her head around, spit harsh words, venom, and actual spit at whoever was in range, and if you weren't careful around her, bite something off of someone. (It's happened. A _lot.)_

Thankfully, she was keeping her usual round of personalized insults to the general “futility of your so called 'heroism'” comments, but we were all keeping a wary eye on her anyway.

She was crazy and annoying, but she was also _extremely_ dangerous.

Tina gave her her own chair and table, no tea or crumpets because she might be able to turn it to her advantage and escape like she'd done with so many mundane objects before. Krieg, Maya, and Elsa stood guard in a triangle around her sides and her back.

Maya and Elsa had their hands ready to use the restraining functions and chemicals on their gear; Krieg was behind her, armoured in some heavy-duty stuff and armed with a club that looked like the bastard child of an axe and a power saw for some extra insurance.

None of them intimidated her, but all we were doing was making sure we had the best chance of stopping her should she try to escape before the SWAT teams and the special police division reserved for Priority Red villains like her could arrive and take her away.

The camera Tina wanted was pointed at her, in case we needed to study how the hell she managed to get away this time.

The rest of us sans me were set out on the table in front of the original tea party to recover and serve as back up in case Angel managed to pull off an escape. Those that got shot by Nisha's “Numbskull” darts like myself got administered the antidote, and I got the chains removed from my wrists and ankles but according to Janey, the timer on the bomb was still going, so I still had to sit on the tiny-ass chair so I didn't blow myself up.

To none of my surprise, Athena and Nisha were in armour; the most noteworthy pieces were Athena's scarf pulled over her head like a hood to conceal most of her face and protect it (it wasn't just a simple fabric to keep warm), and Nisha's cowboy hat along with a gasmask that protected her from what kind of things she could dish out with those guns on her person.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, eyes warily watching Angel, all available hands on weapons and ready to spring to action at a moment's notice.

Tina, as a testament to her eternal sunshine and ability to be completely, absolutely inappropriate no matter what the situation, was still cheerful as ever. “Guests! So many new guests!” She sang as she set out more and more cups, crumpets, and really long straws. “Aww, yeah, this tea party gonna be off the _hook!”_

Angel rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, a 'tea party'; enjoy living in your little fantasy world, little girl, try and hide from the harshness of reality, make yourself the happiest you can be so when the illusion finally crumbles around your ears you can feel the full brunt of the horrific agony that is the _truth.”_

Like I said, anti-Honey Lemon.

“Girl, you need to lighten up, and more importantly, tell us some of those _suh-weet_ stories about you in action, cuz you a badass, oh yes you are! Also a bad guy and a real bitch, but still, bad _-ass.”_

Angel narrowed her eyes at Tina. “My entire life has been nothing but a spiral of death, blood, and misery, all at the behest of forces I'd thought out of my control until I had spilled their blood by my hands. And yet _none_ of it will ever hold up to the tragedy that is your lives.”

“Pfft, or maybe you're just a really bad storyteller.” Tina casually said as she poured Honey Lemon a cup of tea.

It was a coincidence that Angel and Honey's eyes met. What happened next was completely intentional.

“Oh really?" Angel said. "How about I regale us all with the tale of the biggest tragedy of them all, worse than your so called 'crime-fighting' while dressed up in your silly costumes, your playing your parts in the never-ending arms race the Big 'Hero' 6 started:

“Honey Lemon.”

The tea overflowed from Honey Lemon's tea cup. It spilled on her, but her armour protected from the heat.

Angel, however, was a different story.

Tina muttered a quick apology and stopped pouring. “Yo! Leave Honey alone! This is between me and you, homie.” She said as she mopped up the mess with her sleeve.

Angel chuckled. “You wanted a story, didn't you? Well, I'll give you a story: a sad woman who still hasn't grown up from the naive little girl she once was and realized her dreams of finding true love are just that— _dreams.”_

Honey Lemon stiffened. It was easy to see the way her hands suddenly tightened on one of the empty chem-capsules on her purse's sling.

“She said leave her alone, you assbutt!” Anna yelled.

Angel ignored her. “Do you _really_ believe that you're going to find this mythological 'The One' of yours, Honey Lemon?" She continued. "How many has it been? Seventy? Seventy one? Even while you're surrounded by your failures in love, and your latest name to add on that list of former lovers, are you still so _deluded_ and _foolish_ to think that there's such a thing as someone out there for you?”

Honey Lemon scowled and sniffed.

That was it for **all** of us.

“Hey! Azrael!” I yelled.

Angel turned to me—or in my general direction; there was a lot of distance between us and neither of us were very tall. But she heard me, which is all I needed.

Tina quickly raised her phone again and started recording. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear what I was about to say, Angel especially. Then:

I raised my arm, and flipped Angel off.

Let me get on the high horse for a moment here and say that, save some _very_ few exceptions, it is a bad idea to be an assbutt to an assbutt. You will almost always end up putting yourself into a never-ending cycle of assbutting that will end with the both of wasting a lot of time and energy going nowhere but down.

But did I regret flipping off Angel? _Hell no._

Fortunately, Krieg was there to clamp one of his hands down on her face to stop the renewed stream of verbal abuse coming out of her mouth.

 _Un_ fortunately, that was exactly what she wanted him to do so she could somehow escape and raise hell.

If you want to know how that fight went, I suggest you watch any of the videos we took, either from Tina's camera before it got wrecked, or the helmet cams from the others. Because while all that yelling, shooting, and breaking things was happening, I was focusing on keeping my ass glued down to that chair, sitting harder than I've ever sat on anything before.

Besides, it's best if you hear and see it in video form, especially the part when Honey Lemon was trying to beat Angel to death with Anna's dismembered robot arm while cursing a multilingual storm that made Tina cover her ears.

What you can't get from the videos and what I'm going to tell you about, however, was what happened _after_ the police arrived and hauled Angel's ass off to yet another maximum security prison.

In the wake of Angel's escape attempt, most everyone was getting patched up, like Maya bandaging the bite wounds on Krieg's hand and Anna trying to figure out what parts of her arm she could salvage, or just cleaning up all the destroyed furniture and walls. Angel hadn't even gotten close to getting away or injured anyone too seriously, but if there was anything she was good at, it was leaving a gigantic mess wherever she went.

Honey Lemon however came rushing back to the room that held the ruins of the Tea Party From Hell. Somehow, even after all that happened, the original table was completely, absolutely intact, not a scratch on me, Princess Fluffybutt, Sir Reginald, or the tiny pink tea set, crumpets and all.

“GoGo!” Honey Lemon cried as she rushed over the mess of destroyed plastic, ceramic shards, and crumbled crumpets. “You alright?” She knelt beside me and started checking me for any wounds.

“I'm still talking, right?” I joked with not much success.

My fingers were clutching the bottom of the seat, my knuckles completely white as I pulled my ass down as hard as I could on that pressure sensor. I didn't get shot, hit, or splattered earlier, I wasn't about to get blown up now.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Honey Lemon said before she threw her arms around and pulled me into a hug. “I was so worried you might have gotten hurt earlier!”

I smiled, and leaned into the hug. “I'm fine, Honey. Honest.”

We both realized at the same time that my butt was most definitely off the pressure sensor. Honey Lemon pulled me back and we went sprawling on the floor, I grabbed her and cradled her to my chest to shield her from the explosion.

No boom. The chair was still there and in one piece.

Honey Lemon carefully opened her eyes. She chuckled nervously. “Heh. The timer must have run out already!”

And then it exploded.


	20. Life Goes On, Even When Your Ass Gets Blown Up

There is nothing quite like having to explain to the ER doctors why your ass has second degree burns and is full of shrapnel and pink plastic shards with puppies, kittens, and unicorns on them.

If there was any bright side to this, it was that my ass miraculously took the brunt of the explosion and spared Honey Lemon from any serious injury.

I spent the next few weeks post-Tea Party From Hell lying on my stomach with no pants, bandages covering my ass. (And if you're wondering why I didn't alliterate any of the above sentences, I think the media already milked that gimmick for all it was worth, thanks.)

Honey Lemon took a break from the dating scene to visit almost every day in the hospital, and after I got discharged ass out and kneeling on the wheelchair seat, was basically my almost-full-time nurse at my apartment or her place.

“Isn't there anything else you could be doing?” I asked her once.

“Plenty!” Honey Lemon replied. “But this is what I want to do the most.”

“You realize we both screwed up with the bomb, right?”

Honey Lemon sighed. “I know, but I still feel kinda guilty about it. Besides, we're friends! And friends help each other out, right?”

The blush and the opportunity to confess to her was quickly ruined, since we were about to embark on that unspeakable hell of me going to the bathroom with an ass that got blown up.

In the weeks I spent recovering, a number of things happened:

Athena broke up with Honey Lemon. “I'm sorry, but if my being with you can cause someone such distress, misery, and bodily harm, I'm afraid we'd be better off separated for the sake of everyone around us.” She said.

Honey Lemon was cool with it. “She had a good point! And besides, I had this feeling I wasn't exactly who she was looking for.” She explained to me.

Athena and Janey hooked up soon after. “Should'a done this sooner!” Janey said when people asked her how she felt about hooking up with Athena on the rebound, mere minutes after she and Honey officially declared themselves broken up to the public.

Anna and Elsa got outed as superheroes, thanks to the legions of her fans that were comparing bodily statistics between her exes, and some of them realized that Bearcat and Windigo had suspiciously similar measurements.

“Nothing is private anymore...” Elsa said as her only comment to the reporters interviewing them.

The interviews that weren't part of their being “officially licensed superheroes” quickly stopped after the media realized that pissing off _two_ superheroes with lots of friends was a very bad idea.

I'm legally obliged to tell you that no, I have no evidence or testimonials that can link either Elsa, Anna, or any of us to the incidents and accidents.

The two of them also officially hooked up in that time. “If we're spilling secrets, might as well!” Anna said in that famous video before she pulled Elsa into a kiss, to the delight of the reporters.

Elsa's comment on that, excluding the private freakout with Anna backstage: “It took several years, numerous failed relationships, and ended up literally costing Anna several arms, but we both agree it was worth it.”

The legions of Honey's fans finally drew up her new ideal woman, however bare bones: “Between the ages of 20-35, college educated or a trained professional, also a superhero.”

And for the record: I didn't hook up with Honey Lemon in that time and neatly rounded out the new couples with us as number 3, or had a Florence Nightingale moment with her, because:

1\. I did not want “it happened while I was recovering from getting my ass blown up” in our “How We Got Together” story

2\. The long, painful, and traumatic series of misadventures and incidents that had directly or indirectly resulted from Honey's then girlfriends and me not confessing to her had not yet convinced me that it'd be better for all of us—especially my physical and emotional health, according to Baymax—if I just asked her out already, because

3\. I was still a sad, awkward, and incompetent lesbian.

I probably should have seen the _excruciatingly_ obvious signs like Honey Lemon going out of her way to take care of me personally, the subtle and not-so-subtle hints that everyone was dropping, and the fact that I was included in Marshmallow's freshly redone algorithms to guess the face of Honey's new girlfriend, but see #3.

So Janey decided to take the route that, if it didn't work, would probably at least make for yet another good story:

“Say, Honey Lemon, ya mind if I try and hook ya up with one of my mates, pretty sweet gal by the name o' Fluttershy?”

It never occurred to me that Janey could have said that for all of the five minutes they were alone together, instead of the few seconds that I was passing by them during a routine after-action perimeter sweep.

It did occur to me to stop and listen, though.

“Sure!” Honey Lemon said. “Anything I should know, or is she going to get the Unikitty treatment, too?”

“Oh, nothin' too important, 'cept that she almost never goes to bars, parties, or anywhere public without this buddy o' hers, Gilda. She's not as sweet as Shy, but I swear she behaves!”

Honey Lemon smiled. “Good enough for me! What's she like?”

“Basically a quieter, nature-lovin' version of you, now that I think about it, actually!”

Just like how Elsa was an introverted, more conventionally attractive and less abrasive version of myself with a major in Pharmacology; Unikitty was a petite, extroverted version of Honey Lemon with a skill for Industrial Design, industrial machinery, and robots; and Athena was an ex-military version of me with blue hair, also awkward, introverted, and a complete dork with romance, public or private.

I was starting to realize there was a pattern here and I was not pleased. Not enough to try and stop it, though.

The date was made—Wednesday next week, because both Fluttershy and Gilda weren't big fans of crowds.

“Oh, and one more thing: you just _have_ to wait outside for them and watch 'em ride in." Janey grinned. "Trust me, ya don't want to miss that!”

“Noted!” Honey Lemon pulled out her phone to make a note of it, and saw me standing some distance away, standing on my discs with a blank expression on my face. “Oh, hi, GoGo! Perfect timing! You free on Wednesday?”

I grunted in a vaguely affirmative fashion that only Honey Lemon could know was a “Yes.”

It wasn't a decision I _regretted,_ exactly, but it still ended up roping me into another long, painful, and traumatic misadventure.


	21. Friends of a Feather

The chopper's engine sounded like a massive beast roaring and coming at you to mess your shit up, and even while idle it had the tone of that same beast warily watching and warning you to get the fuck away, if only because it was still busy with its last meal. Almost every single component on it was custom, slimmed down, tuned up, and chromed till the whole thing looked like a major character's vehicle from _Mad Max,_ only without the spikes, the skulls, and the bloodstains. Even the sidecar was menacing and impressive, shaped like the head of some sort of bird of prey that was none too happy to see you.

I strained my neck and got a look at the back of it. There were three pink butterflies printed on the back of it.

Three butterflies with elaborate wings made out of pink flames.

I had to give credit to the artist that did them, because it takes serious skill to make butterflies intimidating.

The rider had no less presence. They just _screamed_ military, former or current, with the bomber jacket, the well-maintained leather boots, and the brazen cartoons and cheeky decorations emblazoned all over her clothes.

The passenger couldn't be more different. Like something straight out of a teenage dramedy from several decades ago, she was the uptown girl to the punk from the inner city: friendly bright green dress; butter yellow helmet; and skin so smooth and soft you wondered if she were a goddess that liked hanging around mortals.

The rider killed the engine, and pulled off their helmet. Underneath: white hair with spiky bangs up front, the tips tinted purple; sharp, unfriendly eyes like a hawk; and a seemingly permanent scowl on a face that was roughed up, broken, and scarred many times before.

I immediately knew she was Gilda.

The passenger pulled off her helmet. Underneath: impossibly long, silky, and luxurious pink hair that rivaled Honey Lemon's; eyes that gave her a warm, approachable, and completely harmless aura like a unicorn out of a children's show; and a face that made you want to spill all your troubles to her and ask for a hug that you knew she was going to readily, happily give.

It was a no-brainer that this was Fluttershy.

They put their helmets away and walked up to the Hearth's entrance. Me and Honey Lemon stood by the side and gawked at them.

Fluttershy gave us both a warm smile and a friendly, acknowledging nod.

Gilda eyed the both of us like a predator does competition, the scowl on her face growing a smidgen deeper as she saw Honey Lemon in person.

The two of them stopped in front of Kristoff and Sven, the human among them busy staring at the bike.

Fluttershy patiently stood in front of them and pulled out her ID from an unseen, almost seamless pocket in her dress.

Gilda sighed and loudly cleared her throat.

Kristoff snapped out of it and eyed them both. Fluttershy easily got the all clear; Gilda got a wary look. “IDs. Not that I doubt either of you aren't mature adults”--his eyes quickly darted to Fluttershy's most definitely “mature adult” assets and back--”but it's protocol.”

Fluttershy blushed slightly and handed hers over without complaint.

Gilda reached into one of the pockets on the front of her jacket and pulled her ID out of a wallet.

“Alright, you're all clear!” Kristoff said after he scanned and filed the both of them. “Except for one thing”--he pointed to Gilda's other pocket, the flap left undone, a small silver case gleaming inside--“no smoking inside.”

“These aren't smokes.” Gilda said. Her voice sounded like she was gargling several handfuls of gravel, a tell-tale sign they were, once

Kristoff nodded. “Mind if you show me, then?”

Gilda pulled it out—exact same size, and design as a metal cigarette case. Then she flipped it open and inside were two neat rows of carrot sticks.

Sven licked his lips.

Kristoff hummed. “You're right. They're worse. Still, they're not banned, go ahead.”

Gilda grunted, then put her pack of carrot sticks back into her pocket.

Sven whimpered.

Gilda cast a glance at the reindeer. “What's his problem?” She asked.

“He just wants some carrots.” Kristoff replied. “Can I bum one off of you?”

“ **No.”**

Sven's face fell.

Fluttershy tugged on Gilda's sleeve. “Can I have a stick, please?”

Gilda grunted, and with the practiced motions of someone who'd done it hundreds if not a thousand times before, she seamlessly pulled out a stick and handed it to Fluttershy.

“Thank you.” Fluttershy said as she took it then held it out for Sven.

Sven immediately brightened up and took the stick from her.

“Can I pet him?” Fluttershy asked.

Kristoff shrugged. “It's up to him. Sven?”

Sven nodded vigorously, the carrot sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette. Fluttershy smiled and patted him on the head.

I figured he'd be willing to do anything for another carrot stick, except hurt Kristoff—that'd probably take two or three.

Gilda groaned. “Did we come here for the bar or the reindeer?”

“Just three more seconds.” Fluttershy replied

Gilda rolled her eyes. “Fine...”

Three seconds later, Fluttershy petted Sven on the head one last time, and the two of them headed inside.

Sven looked wistfully at them as they passed—probably because now he couldn't get any more carrot sticks without abandoning his post.

Honey Lemon turned back to me. “Okay, _wow._ Janey was _not_ kidding.”

I grunted. “We gonna head in and meet them properly, or what?”

Honey Lemon frowned. “I don't know, GoGo… now that I've seen Fluttershy in person, I'm not so sure if I want to...”

I sighed. “Honey, you've got three female exes under your belt, one of them someone like Elsa. All of them are still your friends, and are happy to hang out with you most every day of the week. That aside, you've got legions of lesbians, female bisexuals, straight or bisexual guys who think they still have a chance, and the odd asexual that _want_ you.

“I'd say that you haven't found a steady girlfriend because you've yet to find a person that can handle your kind of woman at the level you're up in. And if Fluttershy doesn't turn out to be it? Lots of fish in your corner of the sea, Honey, _lots_ of fish.”

Honey Lemon smiled. “Thanks, GoGo. I feel a lot better now.”

“Enough to go inside? Because I don't want to stand out here all night, cold and bored, when I can be inside, warm and drunk.”

Honey Lemon just kept on smiling and the two of us made our way into the bar, side-by-side.

Gilda and Fluttershy were already at a table, a circular four seater with two empty seats on their sides. Gilda was artfully slouched on her chair, nursing a Gabija's Fury in her hand, the drink glowing its iconic fiery gold-yellow-orange tint, “with a kick to match!” Anna warned. Fluttershy sat almost straight on her chair, visibly relaxed and both her hands wrapped around her Gaia's Bounty.

Fluttershy saw us, smiled, and waved.

Gilda saw us, too, and for a split-second, the look in her eyes turned _very_ hostile before she busied herself with her Fury.

Honey Lemon waved back, unaffected by Gilda's sudden aggression, or she didn't notice it. I kept a wary eye on Gilda, and was keenly aware she was giving the both of us subtler wary eyes back.

“Hi!” Honey said as she walked up to the table. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Fluttershy! I gotta say, the pictures on your Instagram didn't do you enough justice.”

Fluttershy blushed brightly and smiled at Honey. “Oh… thank you.” She said in a voice that was so soft I wondered how I'd even heard it in the first place.

Gilda tensed up. For all of our sakes, I decided to defuse the situation to save on her stores of willpower.

“Hey, quick question: are either of you college students in a scientific field, graduates, or make your living as scientists or skilled professionals?” I asked. “You know, scientists, military, board-licensed mechanics?”

The tension disappeared. Fluttershy and Gilda looked at each other. Gilda warily eyed me from the corner of her eyes like she was unsure if I was up to something or just weird, Fluttershy just shrugged and turned back to me.

“I'm a vet and a domestic animal-focused researcher, with majors in Veterinary Science and Biochemistry.” Fluttershy said. “I take care of and study livestock, work animals, and sporting animals, alongside making formulas, feeds, and injections meant to promote growth, prevent disease, or hopefully induce beneficial effects or pass on them on to the next generation.” She cast a meaningful look to Gilda.

Gilda shot her back a look that said “Seriously?” before she sighed quietly and turned to me. “Aerospace Engineer.” She grunted. “Worked with other Air Force eggheads for a few years, before I pissed off too many of the wrong people. Now I work for a private corp.”

“Well whadya know, both your type.” I said as I gestured to the both of them. “Take your pick.”

Honey Lemon smirked and shook her head at me, before she sat down beside Fluttershy. The two of them quickly got into an animated conversation, one I could barely hear. I took the one remaining seat, and locked eyes with Gilda.

The both of us shared steely glances, exchanging wordless warnings that if we or our friends messed with their friend, there was going to be hell to pay.

And then, because we were more alike than we thought we were, we both cast subtle, wistful glances at the women we wished we were talking to instead.


	22. Crouching Biker, Hidden Griffin

“Something could go wrong while she's out there!” One part of my brain reasoned. “We need to be there to make sure she's _safe!”_

“You do realize Fluttershy's basically the ultimate survivalist, right?” Another part of my brain countered. “The kind of person you could airdrop into a rain forest with no food, no supplies, and just the clothes on her back, and three weeks later she'd either be back in civilization or hanging out in her jungle fortress that she built herself, complete with a menagerie of tamed big cats.”

“Yes, but what if a freak accident happens and Fluttershy's incapacitated? It happens!”

“Yeah, pretty sure Honey can just call the park rangers. You know, from any of the dozens of emergency phones in the area? She'll be fine with Fluttershy.”

“Okay, I see your point, but then again, she's not _us.”_

I sighed and let my head hit my desk. I'd tried to distract myself from Honey Lemon's date later tonight by getting some work done, but after she announced to all of us where her first date with Fluttershy was going to be—both out of excitement and the very real need that we knew where she was in case the Call to Action came.

It would have been so easy if it'd been like Elsa, Unikitty, and Athena: a nice restaurant somewhere in the city; one of the many places to take your date to like the movies, the parks, or the rec centers; or even just a quiet night in whoever's place.

But no, Fluttershy had to pick a location that was both out of the city and relatively far from civilization.

The Guardian's Grove wasn't actually a natural forest, or stood for hundreds of years with ancient, towering trees. It was man-made and artificial, a philanthropist and their like-minded friends' pet project “for future generations,” a forest that was as close to the real thing as it got, with the added bonuses of being not too far away from civilization, nor at risk of getting bulldozed to make way for developments.

It was a damn good imitation, however. Even if the acres were small compared to the natural mountain ranges up north, there were dozens of stories about people who had gotten lost for hours, even with the extensive emergency contingencies in place. The perimeter was heavily guarded and monitored, but even then, man-made structures were a rarity, and the rangers there were trained to be nature's ninjas.

Once the sparse parking lot and the ranger station disappeared, it was easy to feel like it was just you, alone in the woods.

Since my brain continued to refuse to get something productive done, I decided to distract myself by researching about the Grove in an attempt to get it to shut the hell up about Fluttershy and Honey Lemon (unlikely as that was).

I dug up the usual facts that don't neatly fit into the press releases and the advertisements: it was an outstandingly safe place, with management very keen on maintaining its illusion of a giant forest far from the city; the animals were wild, and should be treated as such, which meant no feeding or taking selfies with them; and they had some amenities and services that made it easy for city-goers to enjoy the Great Outdoors with little prior planning or knowledge, like a quick seminar about proper, responsible hiking, and fully packed bags and gear for rent.

It was when I managed to stumble upon this little tidbit in its rules that it all went downhill:

Couples were encouraged to keep intimacy PG-13. Aside from the fact that the location was family friendly and kids might stumble on some facts of life they shouldn't see in action, the management had a number of warnings and a few choice horror stories that told of couples that learned the _hard_ way that realizing your fantasy of having sex in the woods came with the very real risk of embarrassing explanations to your doctor, unexpected spectators and sudden internet fame, and wild animals walking in on you.

I closed the page and swore to myself that I would not do anything rash like chase after Honey Lemon and Fluttershy, and risk an outdoorsy repeat of the Patty Cake Incident; instead, I would do the right thing and busy myself back here in San Fransokyo, and go there only if there was an emergency, a Call to Action within the area, or either of them specifically wanted me to be there.

Then I grabbed the duffel bag containing my gear, started researching about transportation to the Grove, and made a note to hit the ATM.

* * *

The good thing about being an outed superhero is that no one looks strangely at you if the bag check turns up full of power armour and deadly weapons. Most everyone assumed that you had good reason to, and didn't ask.

I got suited up, rented a backpack, and double-checked it. It was filled with some necessary items like bug spray; maps, emergency guidelines, and a compass; water and emergency rations, and the like that you'd need for a hike out in the woods, however short.

I hoofed it into the forest, starting a sweep of the different landmarks and points of interest that Fluttershy or Honey Lemon might be at.

My mag-lev wheels stayed on my back; they aren't very good in the outdoors, when the ground is not completely flat, covered with dirt and grass with really tetchy traction, and the hundreds of tiny bumps, rocks, and holes you might run into.

I had my phone and could use the tracker on it to find Honey Lemon, but unfortunately, it'd beep and let her know I was here, too.

It did occur to me that I was wearing a bright yellow outfit that'd contrast nicely against all the muted browns and natural greens, but between getting busted easily and being too late to suit up and protect Honey Lemon and Fluttershy, I'd take getting busted.

* * *

Night came. I realized just how right the reviews were when I looked up and saw nothing but darkness, tall trees, and the thick canopy above me.

I wasn't lost in the wilds, I knew, and there was probably a phone hidden somewhere that I could use to call the rangers to get me out, but it was still creepy as hell.

I found a nook I could put my back to, someplace where I could easily watch the sides and see something coming, and pulled out my water and the energy bars from my bag. I'd been looking for a while now and hadn't found even a trace of Honey Lemon and Fluttershy; all that disappointment and hiking was starting to take a toll on me.

I was halfway through my first energy bar when I realized I was being watched. I stuffed the food and the water back into my pack and got my shields out on my arms. I looked around me, staring into the darkness, up in the nearby branches, trying to find out where the hell my stalker might be hiding.

I never thought to look _straight_ up, which is something I had to give them credit for.

Someone dropped down from above and crashed into my back , knocking the wind out of me. I tried to look up at my attacker but they stepped on the back of my head and forced me into the dirt. A knee dug into my back as my armour crunched ominously, something very, _very_ sharp digging into them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A voice said, one that sounded like they were gargling several handfuls of gravel.

I scowled at the ground. “I could you ask you the same thing, Gilda.”

Gilda dug her knee a little deeper into my back. “I asked you first, dweeb.”

I winced. “I'm trying to find Honey Lemon and Fluttershy. You?”

Silence. “… Ditto.”

“You gonna let me go now?” I asked.

Gilda grunted and stepped off me. She helped me up by the carbon-fiber parts of my armour—the sharp talons covering her hands and feet wouldn't agree with the spandex sections.

I brushed the dirt and debris off my visor and got a look at Gilda's gear. Sleek, streamlined, and angular, with the helmet making her look like a bird of prey—or a griffin, I realized. There were small jets attached to her gloves and her boots, with a larger setup and wings peeking out from her back.

“You know where they are?” I asked.

Gilda sighed. “No. This place is fucking huge, it's ridiculous.”

“Can't you just do a fly over?"

Even if her face was hidden underneath the helmet, I knew Gilda scowled at me. “You think I'd be standing here talking to you if I could do that? Enough chit-chat; let's get to looking."

“After I finish the snack you interrupted.” I spat as I turned around to my backpack. “Couldn't you have just come up to me and--”

I stopped. The light of my helmet reflected off something metallic, and it was far too low to be one of the phone boxes. Gilda saw and she quickly knelt in front of it to investigate. She brushed one of her talons over the foliage and the moss, revealing what looked to be a metal hatch that shouldn't have been there.

Gilda stood back up and looked at me. We both silently agreed on a ceasefire, and called our respective teams (sans Honey and Fluttershy), told them that we were going to investigate something, and if we didn't call back in five minutes? Call for help and ship out.

I set my backpack to the side, away from the mouth of our mystery door. Gilda forced open the hatch, and we found ourselves looking at a tunnel that lead deep underground.

The two of us looked at each other, nodded, and went in, Gilda leading.

Five seconds later, we ran out as fast as we possibly could.


	23. Bearing It All To You

If you haven't fought a bear before, here's the golden rule:

You don't.

The best you can do with any situation involving bears is to run, avoid them, or be prepared with something like bear spray. If in case you are most definitely being attacked, mauled, or eaten by a bear, you fight for your life, preferably aiming for the eyes or the nose.

It doesn't matter if you have power armour and weapons: bears arelarger than you, heavier than you, and better equipped for killing you.

T his is _especially_ true when you are dealing with a bear that has clearly been mutated to be larger and more aggressive than they usually are, with the added bonus of being conditioned to hate humans and  _especially_ superheroes.

“Can't you go any faster?!” I yelled.

“I'm trying as hard as I can, dude!” Gilda yelled back. “Maybe if you lost some weight this wouldn't be a problem!”

I gritted my teeth.

Gilda's jets beeped and up into the air we went, setting a good amount of distance between us and the bear. The rockets ran out of thrust, back down to the ground we went, I started running, and the cycle repeated itself.

It probably would have been something of a funny sight, if it weren't for the issue that the bear was most definitely going to kill and eat us if it caught us.

Yet another familiar voice came from a collar around the bear's neck. _“Keep running! It'll only make him hungrier and make this shit even more fun to watch! Man, these collar cams and planting hidden cameras everywhere was a_ really _good idea.”_

We both scowled. We only knew one person who had that voice and could be responsible for something like this:

Dr. Genesis.

* * *

Ayana Jennifer Booker was a girl with a dream: rule the world from atop a giant wolf clad in battle armour, with two laser miniguns on its back, with a stable containing her laser-raptor, her giant tiger, and her giant cockatoo back at her sky fortress.

Unlike most little girls that realized their He-Man fantasies were going to stay fantasies, Ayana worked and studied hard, exploring every avenue to make her dreams come true, until she finally became one of the most esteemed scientists in the world, famed for her work in breeding and creating hybrids and strains of livestock and working animals that were more disease resistant, acclimated to adverse weather conditions, and had more of everything than the old breeds.

Then, at the peak of her career, grant money flowing in like candy, she threw it all away, embezzled billions of dollars, and rechristened herself Dr. Genesis, your premiere source of mutated attack animals and exotic pets for the criminal underworld and the _way_ too rich and bored.

Generally, she worked as a for-hire underling, but on the occasion she had enough dirty money and opportunity, she went off on independent projects, such as mutating the local wildlife of someplace.

Her motivations can be easily summed up as “Because I want it.”, “Because I can.” and “Because it's funny to watch people try to stop me.”

Doing that last would have to wait when the others got here, unfortunately.

Gilda's thrusters went into hover mode once more, we fell back down to earth, and I readied my feet to start running again—only this time, my leg sank into a hole covered over with grass and leaves. The laws of physics took brutal hold of the both of us: I came crashing through the brush and into a clearing, Gilda let go and went sailing off clear to the other side.

I rolled myself on my back and got blinded by the moonlight pouring in from an opening in the canopy. My eyesight came back in time to see Honey Lemon looking over me, already pulling off the first aid kit from her backpack.

“Honey! No!” I yelled. “Get the hell out of here!”

She couldn't even ask why when the bear came barreling through into the clearing and made a beeline for me.

Honey Lemon fled to safety. I looked at the bear, and raised my shields.

I was going to go down, of that there was no doubt. But I wasn't going to go down without a _fight_.

The bear loomed over me and started swiping its giant, mutated claws at me. I blocked its attacks as best as I could, trying to take hits on my shields or the carbon-fiber parts of my armour. Ominous crunching and warping sounds filled the air as it sheared off several inches off my discs and my gear, getting closer and closer to my body.

A lucky swipe sent one of my shields went flying off as metal shreds, leaving me almost completely defenseless. The bear grinned, I closed my eyes, and prayed it'd be quick.

Suddenly the bear flinched in pain, roaring and pulling back on its hind legs as it tried to swipe at something behind its back. It stumbled about and turned around, and I saw Gilda clinging onto its back for dear life, digging and slashing at its hide while she dodged and took hits on the beefier parts of her armour.

“Don't hurt it!” Fluttershy screamed.

I would have yelled “Who's side are you on?!” if it weren't for the near-death experience. Fluttershy came running back towards me holding a bag in her hands.

“GoGo! Gilda! I need you to lure the bear back to me! I have a plan!”

I looked at Fluttershy digging into her pack, then I looked at Gilda quickly losing the fight against the bear.

“Are you _fucking_ serious?!” I yelled.

“JUST DO WHATEVER THE HELL SHE TELLS YOU!” Gilda yelled, before the bear knocked her off.

I frantically looked back up at Fluttershy. “PLAN! NOW!”

Fluttershy got a look of grim determination in her eyes, looking disturbingly serene. “Just stay where you are, scream, and make like you've hurt yourself too badly to keep on fighting.”

There wasn't time for questions or protests.

Gilda was down on the ground, scrambling to get up and fly away while the bear quickly forced her into a corner. I screamed as loud as I could, pretended to have magically broken most every bone in my body, and the bear turned its attention back to me. Fluttershy disappeared from view, her boots thudding on the ground till she stood just a few feet away from me.

The bear roared and thundered back towards me.

I shut my eyes and prayed.

Thunk!  _ Hisss _ ...

I opened my eyes. There was a cloud of something above me pouring out of a canister, one that flipped through the air till it landed on my chest. I inhaled and immediately my eyes watered and I started choking.

The chemical cloud only stunned the bear for a few seconds, but a few seconds was all Fluttershy needed to get right up to it and stare it in the eyes.

“ Stop what you're doing _ right this  _ _** instant!"  ** _ She yelle d.  “You are a  _ bear _ , not a  _ weapon! _ You're a wild animal that's supposed to roam free in the woods, not  be  used by a lunatic! I want you to snap out of whatever training and conditioning Dr. Gen has put you through, stop trying to kill and/or eat my friends, and  _ sit  _ _** down!" ** _

Trust me, you have never seen a chewing out until you witness one that makes a giant, mutant bear whimper, hang its head, and sheepishly step back before sitting down in shame.

Fluttershy dropped a different canister on my chest. This one neutralized the gas from earlier, and smelled much nicer to boot. Now that I wasn't choking, crying, and suffering, Fluttershy stepped around me and headed right to the bear.

“There, there...” Fluttershy said as she stroked the bear on its neck. “It's not your fault; you're not a bad bear, you just got used by a bad person.” She reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a handful of food. “Here, have some treats! Just to show how much I appreciate your listening to me."

The bear started eating straight from her hand. “That's it, eat it all up!" Fluttershy cooed. "That's what _good_ bears get when they stop following _bad_ people!"

“Yeah...” Gilda said as she stepped over. “With Shy, that happens a lot...”

I just stared. Honey Lemon helped me back up to my feet while Gilda warily kept watch on the bear, just in case.

_"Oh come on!"_ Dr. Genesis cried from the collar. _"At least try to bite her or something! This is_ boring!"

Fluttershy and the bear both scowled. “Do you know where Dr. Genesis is hiding, boy?” She asked.

The bear nodded.

“Once my friends get here, will you take us there? I'll give you more treats if you do!” Fluttershy smiled.

The bear nodded more eagerly this time.

“Good boy!” Fluttershy said. “And just for that, I'll give you an advance!” She started feeding the bear out of her hand again.

Honey Lemon  joined the  staring as we stood in the clearing. 

“You get used to it.” Gilda said. “Kinda.”

Dr. Genesis sighed. _"Welp, so much for that test subject. Good thing I've got others!"_

We all tensed up as we heard the sounds of dozens metal hatches opening, followed by the cries of animals that most _definitely_ weren't normal.

Then the com-unit in my helmet crackled to life:

“Sit tight, folks!” Hiro said. “Me and Baymax are coming in to get you out! And don't worry about the animals: the others are already on it.”


	24. Home Not-So-Sweet Home

“ _That was my actual arm, you assbutt!”_ Anna's voice screeched through our com units. Those of us who had Baymax Cam on saw one of Dr. Genesis' mutant birds flying away with her robot arm.

There was a brief shot of Anna in full Bearcatt costume, jumping up and down and angrily waving her stump in the air, before Hiro and Baymax gave chase.

All over the Grove, the rangers, the police, and the other superheroes were hard at work corralling Dr. Genesis' mutant animals into specially designed cages, keeping watch over the good doctor herself, or patrolling the area to make sure there weren't any civilians still in the woods.

Because my gear had gotten almost completely wrecked in the bear attack, I spent the next couple of hours sitting on one of the picnic tables by the ranger station, helping keep the civs calm and in check. Even if I couldn't fight anything in the sorry state my gear was in, it seemed enough for them that I'd survived something that'd cause that kind of damage.

My comm-unit crackled to life. _“We got the bird!”_ Hiro said. _“Me and Baymax are bringing it back_ _now_ _. I think it dropped Anna's arm into a lake, though.”_

Anna sighed. _“I_ _t's cool, I_ _think we got the last of the animals in the south side, anyway...”_

“ _All clear here up on the west, too!”_ Unikitty added. _“Me and Athena and Nisha are just going to do one last sweep of the area then we'll head back!”_

“ _It's gotten quiet here up north, too;”_ Maya added. _“I think we've_ _gotten all of them.”_

“ _Going to do one last flyover on Baymax before we head back, then!”_ Hiro said. _“Keep your guards up, folks; we don't know if some of those animals are still around.”_

Some time later, every last animal had been wrangled and were ready to be hauled off to a laboratory, where they'd hopefully be able to undo the damage Dr. Genesis caused. Dr. Gen herself was going back to a maximum security prison, hopefully for longer than a few weeks this time.

Fluttershy gave the mutant bear that tried to kill me the rest of her bag of treats for the road, before they tearfully bid each other goodbye, and the caravan of police cruisers and semi-trucks went rumbling off.

Aside from the sounds of vehicles patrolling the forests or heading back to the station, all was peaceful in the Grove once more.

Honey Lemon came by with two cups of hot chocolate in hand and offered me one. I thanked her and started sipping.

We sat quietly at our table, just the two of us. Honey Lemon didn't ask what the hell I was doing here in my gear earlier, but the look on her face did say she was damn curious and would really appreciate me telling her why. By the time Gilda and Fluttershy managed to end up at our table because of lack of space, it was really more of a question of _when_ I was going to spill, not _if_ _._

Gilda pulled off her helmet, and set it down on the table. The two of us looked apologetically at Fluttershy and Honey Lemon in turn, then faced each other. We nodded once and silently agreed I should go first.

“I was trying to find you and Fluttershy in the forest and stalk you two during your date.” I mumbled.

Gilda hung her head. “… Ditto.”

We both closed our eyes waited for the chewing out. Some time later, there was not a word spoken.

We both opened our eyes and found that Honey Lemon was smiling and Fluttershy didn't look angry in the least.

“Oh no, this wasn't a date, not even close!” Honey Lemon explained. “Look, Fluttershy's a great gal and all, don't get me wrong on that, but she's not exactly my type. Nor am I hers, actually!”

“I just wanted to show off the Grove to Honey Lemon.” Fluttershy continued.

Gilda perked up. “Then that means--”

Fluttershy turned her attention to her, those big eyes of hers looking curious and ready to listen to every word.

Gilda stopped, closed her mouth, and shook her head. “… Nevermind, it's dumb...”

Fluttershy reached over and touched Gilda on the shoulder. “I won't think it's dumb. Promise.” Even with most of her face covered by her gas mask/helmet, you knew she was smiling.

Gilda looked at her and blushed. You could see the raging debate going on in her head from her face alone. “Ah, screw it...” She mumbled. “Uh… would you uh… do you…” Gilda shut her eyes and clenched her teeth. “Do you want to come back here sometime...?” She said through gritted teeth. “Just the two of us...? Alone...?”

“Like on a date...?” Fluttershy asked.

Silence.

“… Yeah. Pretty much.”

Fluttershy beamed. “I'd love to.”

Gilda blinked, before a huge grin broke out on her face. “Cool.”

Honey Lemon put her hands together. “Aww, how sweet!” She pulled out her phone. “Can I take a photo of you two?”

Gilda's good mood disappeared in an instant. She shot Fluttershy a look that said “Do I have to?”

Fluttershy calmly nodded at her as she pulled off her helmet and laid it out on the table.

The two of them posed for a shot, Honey Lemon took the photo, and started quietly gushing over it while she posted it on Instagram.

A thought crossed my mind to ask Honey Lemon out, too—it was a good moment. I was about to ignore it when Gilda suddenly looked me dead in the eyes and mouthed:

“C'mon, don't be a dweeb.”

I turned to look at Honey Lemon, trying to make words come out of my mouth and failing badly. She looked up from her phone. “Something up, GoGo?” She asked.

I blushed. “I… nevermind, I forgot.”

Honey Lemon shrugged and went back to her posting. Gilda scowled at me and slowly shook her head.

I avoided looking at any of them for the rest of the night and kept my eyes firmly on my hot chocolate.

* * *

Me and the rest of my team shipped back to the city on Baymax. Because it was the closest, we all ended up crashing at Honey Lemon's place.

We got out the emergency changes of clothes, stashed our gear away, and rolled out the sleeping bags. I was about to fight Hiro for one of the prime spots—Honey Lemon's couch—when she called my name from her bedroom door.

I looked and stopped, wondering what she wanted me there for. Hiro took the opportunity to jump on the couch and cry out some bullshit claim that he was there first, but I didn't care about that anymore.

Dozens of scenarios ran through my mind, from the enticing (Honey Lemon taking the initiative for me, and the two of us having a hot, sloppy make-out session inside her bedroom), the worrying (Honey Lemon using the privacy to grill me about my unexplained appearance in the Grove earlier), and the mildly annoying (Honey Lemon and Hiro working out some sort of deal so she'd distract me and he'd end up with the couch).

There was only one way to find out, however, so I womaned up and awkwardly stepped up to Honey Lemon's bedroom. The others were too tired to make any kind of encouragement like at the wrecked restaurant so long ago, but now that I was somewhat less dense than that time, I could feel their silent thumbs up and good lucks.

I had a feeling what was going to happen once I stepped in through that door wasn't going to be remotely what they or I thought it was going to be.

* * *

In a word, Honey Lemon's bedroom was pink. _Extremely_ pink.

Pink sheets, pink walls, pink decorations—if it could come it that colour, Honey Lemon had it. For the rest, she had cutesy, kitschy décor, some homemade quilts or curtains thrown over the furniture and tables for visual interest, along with a number of framed photos, the choice few that she actually printed out out of the hundreds if not thousands of photos she took regularly.

There were three focal points to it: one, her walk-in closet with the nearby sewing kit for last minute-repairs or spur of the moment accessorizing or sudden inspiration; two, her vanity table that was almost completely covered with all-natural cosmetics and assorted sprays, lotions, and creams; and three, her single bed and the night table that held her all important phone dock, the one that charged her phone while it downloaded her precious photos into her two backup hard drives.

That night wasn't the first time I'd been there—but it certainly was the first time I'd been here since I realized I was in love with Honey. Then, I could just walk in and casually do my best not to disturb her personal ecosystem too much, now, I was pussyfooting through it like it were a minefield.

Honey Lemon looked at me without giving any sign that she thought my sudden change in behaviour was weird, to say the least. For that, I silently thanked her, and also wished she weren't so understanding and compassionate, because holy shit that was actually pretty hot.

I looked up and shot her a look that said “Sorry I'm being so weird tonight, it's just… yeah.”

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sleeping bag on the floor.

A pink one.

“You can have my bed for tonight; you deserve it.” Honey Lemon explained.

I shot her a questioning look, mixed with shame and a little bit of self-loathing.

Honey Lemon smiled. “Look, what you were doing at the Grove earlier? It's not important right now, okay? Besides, you managed to survive getting mauled by a mutant bear—I'd say you more than deserve it!”

I still didn't think so, but if Honey Lemon did, and it meant not sleeping in the same room as the guys, I wasn't going to complain and fell over on her bed.

Allow me to get creepy again:

You remember how I loved wearing Honey Lemon's shirt? Sleeping in her bed was way, way, _way_ better than that. Aside from the fact that Honey Lemon had an amazingly good mattress to begin with, the sheets were warm and downy, her pillows were “sink into Nirvana” soft, and there was no shortage of both.

This wasn't even getting to the smell of it. Soothing scent of lavender aside, the whole thing was just unmistakably Honey Lemon. I took a deep breath, got a noseful of her scent: her citrusy and fun shampoo, her floral scented laundry soap, the faint smells of baked goods and chemicals that stuck to her.

It was about the happiest and the most relaxed state I'd ever been in, and I wondered how the hell Honey Lemon ever wanted to get up in the morning if this was where she clocked out at night.

I wondered about how nice it would be like if Honey Lemon was in there with me. Nothing naughty, just the two of us, together in bed, probably with me curled up into a ball and Honey Lemon pulling her legs up and doing some mild acrobatics so we'd actually fit on the mattress without any part of us hanging out or falling off.

Then a different part of my brain reminded me that unless I womaned up and confessed to her, and luck was on my side and she didn't say no, wondering about what it'd be like was all I'll be doing for the rest of my life.

It was a depressing thought to go to sleep to. But to be fair, getting some shut eye was doing me a whole lot more good than fantasizing about things that weren't going to happen any time soon.


	25. Sometimes, Things Do Happen On A Wednesday

Wednesday morning at the Hearth, 12:14 AM.

By complete coincidence, my team, and all of Honey Lemon's ex-girlfriends' teams went off on separate missions and Calls to Action, and we all finished at roughly the same time. Tired, worked-up after a fight, and looking for something to do now that we needed to be awake and ready for the next couple of hours till daybreak, we all decided:

“Fuck it, let's head to the bar.”

With the exception of Hiro, Baymax, and Tina, everyone was gathered around the tables or the Iceberg with one of the Hearth's drinks in hand, making casual conversation, rescheduling their days, or just enjoying a moment of peace while still dressed up in most of our armour sans some pieces like helmets.

Honey Lemon put her drink down and got up from our table. “Just going to head to the bathroom and freshen up, guys!” She said as she walked off.

After her back was turned, Hiro, Wasabi, Fred, and even Baymax shot me a series of looks.

From the Iceberg, Anna gave me a thumbs up with her organic hand while her mechanical hand mixed drinks; Elsa stopped her experiment with a new drink to look at me and offer an encouraging smile.

Sitting on the edge of the bar, Unikitty stopped swinging her legs and gave me two thumbs up; in front of her on a stool, Nisha casually looked over her shoulder and tipped her hat at me.

Over at the two-seater tables, Janey excitedly, quietly cheered me on with one hand while her other was wrapped around Athena's shoulder. Athena herself offered me an encouraging look.

From the adjacent four-seater, Maya, Krieg, and Tina joined in. “C'mon! Go get your Honey, homie!” Tina whispered loudly.

I could feel a pair of eyes boring four holes in the back of my head, drilling in a very clear message: “Don't you dare be a dweeb twice.” I looked back and saw that Gilda and Fluttershy were staring me down with varying levels of hostility.

The doors opened and new customers walked into the Hearth. Kristoff and Sven peeked their heads inside and both shot me identical looks.

When everyone, the robot, _and_ the reindeer was telling me to woman up, I knew I had transcended “bad” and into a situation that needed an entirely new word to describe how tragic and sad it was.

I got up from my seat, and looked at the direction of the ladies' bathroom. It suddenly felt like something had grabbed a hold of me, choking me and keeping locked in place.

“… I'm going to go check on the villains...” I mumbled half-heartedly as I shuffled to the temporarily restricted area of the bar.

Some were pretty vocal and obvious with their disappointment; others were more subtle and polite; the rest tried to hide it, but the message was pretty clear:

I was an _unbelievably_ sad, awkward, and incompetent lesbian.

Marshmallow nodded at me as I came over to the villain side. Mistress Elektra, Tik Tok, Angel, and Dr. Genesis sat at one table, tied, chained, and/or chemically bound to their chairs, their drink orders in front of them with complimentary really long straws. The tables around them were occupied by a mixed bag of rank-and-file Junkers, personal minions, and for-hire goons, all in roughly the same situation.

Dr. Gen's latest battle animal was curled up on the side, simultaneously tripping out from Nisha's darts and blissfully eating several pounds of Fluttershy's treats.

“Jesus Crunchy Christ, aren't you ever going to ask that girl out?” Tik Tok said as soon as she saw me.

I blushed. “Why would I--”

“Oh, please, don't even try to hide your sad, _pathetic_ infatuation with Honey Lemon;” Angel continued. “It's clear on your face, in your actions, in your words! Why don't you end this _senseless_ suffering of yours, fall for that blissful, _painful_ lie that is 'Love?'”

“We humans a higher breed of animal, darling, but at the end of the day, we're still animals;” Mistress Elektra smiled. “And sometimes, it's _good_ to give in to your baser instincts.”

“Seriously!” Dr. Genesis added. “If you two were a fictional couple on Netflix, I'd say the writers gone and turned up the unresolved sexual tension _way_ too high!”

“Plus, it's just gone from Funny, to Kinda Funny, to just _Really_ Fucking Sad.” Tik Tok added.

The others murmured their agreement.

“Why do you stop yourself, GoGo?” Mistress Elektra asked. “If it's pain you want, there's _so_ much more of it if you'd let her break your heart after you become hers; pining, wondering, and fantasizing just doesn't compare.”

“Regret is nothing compared to the agony of love lost!” Angel cried.

“It'll also make for a great headline: 'GoGo Finally Womans Up, Gets Her Woman.'” Dr. Gen said.

“Besides, girlfriends are _great_ leverage!” Tik Tok added. “You wouldn't _believe_ the kind of shit you could get people to agree to when you kidnap their boo.”

“Really, it's better for _all_ of us if you two finally become lovers.” Mistress Elektra finished.

I just stood there, staring blankly at them. I couldn't even contemplate the new low I'd hit when my _enemies_ pointed out how fucking sad it was that I hadn't hooked up with Honey Lemon.

I spun on my heel and mumbled some sort of half-assed excuse under my breath.

“Hey, could you do that tomorrow?” One of the Junkers cried. “I've got money riding on you two!”

Several of the other goons said the same thing, and I sighed. I shuffled back to my table, eyes firmly down on my feet and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Then I saw a pair of pink platform heels just a short distance away from my yellow boots.

I slowly looked up and found Honey Lemon standing in front of me, a small, curious smile on her face. “Something up, GoGo?”

I blushed. “I… uh…” Silence. “… You didn't happen to hear anything that happened back there, did you?”

Honey Lemon chuckled and shook her head. “Funnily enough, no! I just got out of the bathroom and you and the villains were way too far away for me to hear. What were you guys talking about, anyway?”

Honey Lemon was telling the truth, I could tell that. I could make up some excuse, a lie, and get away from this situation without ever letting the secret out—or, at least, confirming it, since it seemed pretty damn obvious to _everyone_ anywhere. But then I realized doing that was just going to start this cycle of heartbreak, distress, and painful, traumatic misadventures all over again, and I realized, after all this suffering, I'd finally had enough.

It was time for me to woman up.

“Do you want to go out to dinner sometime?” I blurted out as fast as I could.

Honey Lemon blinked and stared at me.

I stared right back, blushing bright red and sweating bullets.

Then, she smiled. “Sure, GoGo! How's Thursday?”

In the past few months, I'd suffered alcohol poisoning; been shocked unconscious; stepped on and was injured by several LEGO bricks; been severely traumatized in an incident that is forever burned in my mind; been drugged and kidnapped; been forced to participate in the Tea Party From Hell under threat of getting blown up; gotten blown up anyway; and almost been mauled to death by a mutant bear.

This wasn't even including the several tons of humiliation, distress, and heartbreak in between all that.

But you know what? Cliche as it sounds, I'd happily do it all over again, if it meant I could relive that moment.


	26. The Worst/Best First Date Ever

To say that my plans for my first date with Honey Lemon had been shot was an understatement; it'd be more accurate to say it had been perforated with a minigun, torched with a flamethrower, then had the ashes gleefully scattered and thrown about while its killers danced a happy jig on it.

But then again, how was I supposed to know Honey Lemon officially announcing that we were a couple was going to cause such a chain reaction?

The others on our team and our friends saw the status update on her Facebook, and decided to go watch over our date in full-costume just in case something bad happened.

The villains _also_ saw the status update on her Facebook, and decided to come out in full force to celebrate my finally womanning up.

Then the status update and the official confirmations from the both of us spread through the internet like wildfire, and Honey Lemon's internet suitors, male and female or otherwise, came over to crash the party or confess their love for Honey Lemon in person, because apparently after 70 different suitors, male and female, I was the one they decided had the best chance of being The One.

Our waitress hadn't even poured us a glass of water before the shit went down, and less than a minute later, I was hanging upside-down from the ceiling by my leg, one of Mistress Elektra's chains latched onto my ankle.

If it was any consolation, the chaos had gone outside of the restaurant, letting me see the ruins of it in relative peace and quiet, sounds of violence, cursing, and passionate declarations of love pouring in from the street.

Honey Lemon came running back in, lugging two duffel bags on her shoulders. She dropped both of them, pulled out her power purse from her bag, and aimed a chem-capsule at the top of the chain holding me up.

The chemical bomb exploded at the base of the chain, the metal corroded, and down I went to the floor.

_Thud._

I groaned as I laid out on my back, looking up at the ceiling and scowling as hard as I could.

Honey Lemon knelt over me, a worried look on her face. “You okay, GoGo?”

“This was the worst first date ever...” I grumbled.

Honey Lemon chuckled. “I'd say it's the best I'd ever had, actually! Not of them ever _this_ exciting.” Then she leaned in and kissed me.

I decided that our first date wasn't so bad, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done. The author would like to extend their thanks to the following people:
> 
> sketchhungry, who requested this insanity in the first place. Go check her out at sketchhungry.tumblr.com; aside from her amazingly well done HoneyGoGo, she also does Crosshares from RWBY and a ton of great artwork beside.
> 
> All the people who have thus commented on, gave kudos to, reblogged, or liked this story, either here or on tumblr. You guys? You guys are the people that keep me going.
> 
> Was the ending perfect? I don't think so, but then again, nothing ever is, it just gets posted.
> 
> Will there be a sequel? There's ingredients for it--I've somehow accidentally developed a rich biosphere of lesbians, superheroes, and recurring villains--but my time is now limited, and I don't think I can do that any time soon.
> 
> Was this whole thing insane? Of that, there was no doubt. But at the very least, I now know I'm perfectly capable of making a novella about superhero scientist lesbians.


End file.
